PANDEMIC

Within the grip of deadly pandemic

the dying suffer, beyond help of medic

or concept of luck; gasping for breath,

each personal effect will soon become relic.

Their lives almost done, the final task

is to say "goodbye" beneath stifling mask

before the inevitable coma overcomes

the will to pray and for miracle ask.

A unit in Critical Care painted blue -

the shade they deem a healing hue -

appears to be failing to fulfill it's role.

In these upsidedown times, is anything true?

The image of a ward on the TV screen,

so very heart-rending and tragic a scene,

profoundly touches my heart until

at this hateful virus in angst I scream.

Antiseptic's aroma fills the air -

though none is here -  I stumble to a chair

before I faint, overcome by the horror

of so much death and emotion laid bare.

Though these poor Souls are not my kin,

I feel all their anguish deep within

and mourn their passing, every one.

How I wish we could soon this battle win.

So I place all my faith in a prophecy made

by our Ancestors back in a darker Age:

that, when under threat, Arthur will return

to quash the invader with his trusted knights' aid.

Oh could it be truth? Or just wishful thought?

Well I happen to believe what in youth I was taught.

It's worth a try - with so many lives lost,

our victory's already been too dearly bought.

    

King Arthur