That grim grey Covid door slammed shut again,
Prisoners of our civilization locked into emptiness, confined
Trapped where human words cannot be welcomed in,
Where light, laughter, fun and company
Are curses of another kind.
To live alone or die in merry company.
We stand upon the shore of our own making
The sea sucking our very foundations as the tide turns,
Until the towers of commerce fall
Tumbling like weeds blown into empty streets
That we once called cities.
I would rather one hug, one dose of charity
One touch of kindness, than all the monies in the world,
People put into prison that which they most fear,
And should something as inevitable as death
Be oh so terrifying?
Caroline Baldock © 2020