The Cynic. A poem by Katie Rudd

The people are still but the virus moves
The media spread fear and panic
So fast
Many are helpless and simply sit inside
All alone
Others are stranded far away and wish
To be home.
The cynics at last see and believe
The reality
He was one but is now a statistic, the first
In the locality
He is strong and healthy, fit and ready
Not yet sick
Yet yearns to suffer, feel pain and turn back
The clock.
For he did not take heed, did not stop
Simply spread;
Through every drink and laugh and toss
Of his head
To both young and old, even his own
Ailing father,
An entity so harmless to one but deadly
To another.
His guilt and pain are etched to remain
If one he crossed during visits near and far
As a cynic
Suffer illness or loss or death because
He spread it


Katie describes herself as as an amateur.

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