Death On The Horizon

A turbulent two weeks, nothing happened – To us.

Not much done nor lived nor conquered,

The world closed

The sun sheltered from work.

And a reality hit like a Phobia,

A Fear of crowds or activity,

A fear of not.

We thought – answers never came.

In two hours the world will wake,

Anxious fatigue will dwell like dirty goggles on a clear view,

And in two rooms there is not enough air to breath.

Two hours till waking,

In bed we lie,

And like half a soldier

We conquer only what torments us,

Nothing at all

Only in our imaginations

We are lost.

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