Troubled Days. A poem by Rod Stanley

An eerie sense
An eerie time
An eerie feeling
An eerie silence
Eerie streets
Eerie towns
Eerie people
No-one passing by
No-one calling at the door
No-one around
None expected
Just people dying, and dying by the thousands
The media keeping a running score
As if it were a rugby game
As if it were important who had more
This virus knows no boundaries
No borders, seas or forgiveness
No end in sight
What hope?

That was then
Now is now
We are into later days now
Quite surreal and unreal days
Then and now
Why now?
Many more thousands of lives all gone now
They say that the gods are taking revenge now
For what we do or shouldn’t do
Are we being taken to task?
It is said they are loving gods
We are made in their image
So we are told
Where did we go wrong
Or were we ever right
In anything?
Eerie? What else can it be?

Where do we go from here?
Where can we go from here?
How will we know?
And when?
A speck of hope
To lift us from this darkness
Eerie darkness
We need a ray of light
Lots of light
Until then

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