The somber bells of the cold stone Cathedral. A poem by Robert Arbuckle

I stood out side my door this moody morning
Sky’s grey and looming
I spied a single magpie as it cried at the top of a skeletal maple
The sound of sirens accompanied the whistle of the whipping wind that blew through the emptiness of the streets
As I felt the shudder of cold in my body
An unpleasant feeling
unavoidable dread
Of the hour we are experiencing
as we isolate in fear
from the virus that plagues our bodies and minds
came over me in a way it had not been felt before
As the somber bells of the cold stone cathedral rang out slowly
with the tone of boney knees
dropping to the ground
society in surrender and panic
pleading to spare our souls
begging and crying
for this weight to be lifted
the weight of this cross too heavy to bear


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