~~ a quindecim triad ~~
To whom can you turn when life loses luster,
'cause the world all around tilts off kilter.
All reason collapses, worries cluster,
as vision blurs midst the twirling clutter.
It's each to his own, and one must attend
to business from home where the factors blend
a bit of this, a touch of that, just when
everything seemed to be soothing the skin.
Nothing is ever as presently seems
when the germ beacons with alluring beams
targeting those with the armor fading,
giving way to weakness, illness, aging.
The virus is bringing the world to its knees
as others bring germs home from overseas --
no one is immune, and yet no one flees.
Everyone points to another in blame
seeking a scapegoat to put in the frame
designed for someone of a diff'rent name
with home fires striving to achieve the same.
Blaming one another no problem solves,
creating smokescreens no one absolves
as this germ around everyone revolves,
no respecter of riches it dissolves.
Like a plague it strikes the strong and the weak
blurring defenses, making them oblique
due to lack of remedy all will seek
when symptoms ravage, weaken at their peak.
There is no cure and no treatment per se
except to ease discomfort, wielding way
to live through the virus, muddle the fray.
The factions ignore large factors looming
as the germs thrive and are ever blooming
'til too many lives are lost, assuming
another will see to life resuming.
Then when recovering is out of our hand
the factions attempt to find methods grand
with a view to protecting all who stand
together against the germ in our land.
In the end it comes down to the dawning --
an age coronavirus is spawning --
in a world caught midst nonchalant yawning
as the germ ripped through sheltering awning.
It ne'er is good to become too secure
in a pattern designed to gray and obscure
attractions that lure into unsafe moor.
Image above: From CDC Image Libraries.