The weeds rise; the vines crawl in intent obliteration
Of a once picturesque shelter now rusting to oblivion.
Still, I enter in shame with a quiet intention:
Are you there, dear friends?
A labyrinth of cobwebs; a pile of dust are in abundance
Taking over a melancholic place in sedentary dance.
Still, I walk over and bellow through the creaks:
How are you, dear friends?
The dry air; the stale smell grows stronger with the dusk.
Gracing the walls now flaking to the crux.
Still, I linger and painfully ask:
Will you speak, dear friends?
A scrub; a mask; and a glove strike a haunting chord
Stirring distant flashbacks of pestilent accord.
Still, I sit in lonely remembrance:
Did you say you tried, dear friends?
The fear and the desperation echo through the windows.
Scenes of white, blue, and green in cadaveric chaos.
Still, I listen to the flow of frenzied emotions:
Did you say it was painful, dear friends?
A cry and a howl – remnants of these souls
Let out amidst wrecks of expired convalescents.
Still, I say sorry and pay my respects:
Have you found justice, dear friends?
In the house of the fallen, I have come once again.
To light a candle before those whom I called friends.
My undying wish disappears, devoured by lives incomplete:
I hope you will find your peace, dear friends.
In the house of the fallen, I turn my back once again.
With a defeated spirit, I cry for all of them.
The longing, the anguish, and the anger:
It won’t be long, dear friends.
Because for the rest of my life, I will remember:
Those romanticized moments in publicity;
Those deaths unrequited in the line of duty;
And the heroes unsung in this calamity.
For those who marvel in the life of the martyrs
Deserve their cracked tombstones and empty epitaphs.
May it be so in the hands of justice:
Be delivered, be honored; and be atoned in all eternities.
For all of the frontliners who lost their fight against COVID-19.
Read all of my COVID-19 poetry here.
Image by Peter H from Pixabay