Tags
Australian poet, Destruction of Sennacherib, George Gordon Lord Byron, Nightmares, poem, poetry, Virus
{Sorry once more Lord Byron}
๐๐๐ฌ๐ญ๐ซ๐ฎ๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง ๐จ๐ ๐ ๐๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ๐ฆ๐๐ซ๐
The virus arrived like a thief in the night,
And the chaos it caused was a terrible sight,
For the people all trembled and half of them fled
As the streets they were strewn with the armies of dead.
And my skin turned to parchment and all fell away,
And my eyes that were green suddenly turned to grey,
And my flesh it dissolved and my sight it grew dim,
And paralysis spread to each germ-ravaged limb.
And mad mobs and police roamed the virulent streets.
(I stole this driving rhythm from Byron โ not Keats)
Soon a zombie looked at me and I matched his stare,
Then he lifted his axe โ it was too much to bear!!!!
I awoke with a scream, and I flicked on the light,
And I stared out the window and into the night.
No dead bodies, no rioting mobs and no fire,
And no last requiem issued forth from a choir.
All was tranquil and silent โ as quiet as a mouse,
With the prisoners safely locked-down in each house.
All quite safe should the virus come down on the fold.
Then I sneezed: damn and blast! Am I getting a cold?
โ D.N. OโBrien
dnobrienpoetry 