Airborne. A poem by Thomas Fahey

Life was a merry-go-round
Rushing here there and everywhere
No one stood still to listen to the that lost sound
What sound is that you enquire?
That sound of stillness, says I, that sense of silence,
That is no longer there.
You know, we were always on the go, running to and fro
Caught up in the manic flow
Never paused, or never tried to take it slow.
We were airborne all the time, the mind and bodies were on overtime, something was going to crack sometime.
Airborne, we were, feet
Not touching the ground
Planning and plotting
Yes, Life was sound.

We were stopped in our tracks, deflected from all tasks
We brought down to earth
Ironically by an airborne virus
That now appears a cert
To torment and scourge us
To throw all our plans, up in the air, out of sight
Leave us vulnerable, to an unseen enemy, that we can’t fight
We were warned, didn’t heed
Too busy? Too ignorant, I believe, Yes, indeed
There may be trouble ahead
We don’t want to be a number among the dead
Because we didn’t listen to what had been said
Don’t be an airborne airhead
Do as you’re asked
Maybe it took this contagion
In this airborne season
To tell people to slow down,
Not be selfish, to look around
To help those who need it,
To encourage people to do their bit
Show your might, in the covid fight
Shine some light, in this hour of night
Bring a little hope, to help your neighbour cope
To rise above the clouds of despair
To be airborne again
In the virus free air.


Retired Ex-Soldier


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