The Virus

The grey light
Of January
Ruffle its feathers
And follows me
Like a virus

I run a little
I hurry along
I touch nothing
For I am not strong
Like the virus

I see the pigeons
Flocking
Flying in circle games
Around the sky
From roof to roof
They fly
Like the virus

Like a cloud
That darts about
From mouth to mouth
And fills the lungs
With stone
And isolates
And cuts off
And makes you its own

So that I shut down
The irrigation gate
To my soul
And I dam up
The pool
So that I cannot
Drink at all
Any virus

The breath of people
Like smoke from a cannon
That I avoid
As much as possible
Walking around
And around and around
Their deadly ammo

So I look
Slightly ahead
To the finishing post
Of the race
Through the war
And I join in the cry
Do not ignore
The virus

Oh it’s funny
Isn’t it
How we
Kill each other
With the virus

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances.

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