A blanket of snow,
covers the ground.
The silence is golden,
with no noise around.
We are stuck at home,
while very much alive.
It is moments like this
when I want a four wheel drive.

A pain in my belly,
has now settled in.
I am uncertain
as to when it began.
A first worry is Covid19
or is it the result
of your shot of vaccine?
A new worry
or just a bad scene,
must be considered,
as there's no in between.

I am becoming a most cynical host,
who dislikes this Worldly, elusive ghost.
The aspersions said, is what they are,
should be served cold, not from a jar.
Leave this place, here now and retreat,
then take a hike. Sit down. Take a seat.

The current news of today,
can be independently dumb.
If you allow those words; heard
to influence life and to succumb
to the stupidity of what is seen,
performed by so many others,
then placed in print by a machine.

There are few words, which I can say
about the day before or yesterday.
Nothing to be written or be now said,
as we weep of friends, now dead.
Why has a country, strong as this Nation ours,
handled the pandemic in this manner so
and ignored the science of which we know?

My sanity unravels,
as I pursue
finding some vaccine
for me and you.
The action is done
as we have received
shot #1.

I feel as if I am brain dead
or like a snake who can't shed
the skin from the old body, his
for life is what it now is.

I miss you so,
you're here with me.
Where's your mind now
in this life's reality?

When I was young and so naive
to the ways of this World, ours,
I would fall in love, at a moments notice
with someone I had just met.
Of course it was infatuation, which I felt,
as the blood coursed through my veins.
The newness of a face, with much charm
would bring forth thoughts of love. Then
the cold, heart of reality, would set in,
as you began to realize what
a mess I was in. Perhaps a date
or meet for a Coke and fries,
for when the truth struck you,
is when you became more aware
of your emotions, which flew at your
core, of your vulnerable, unprotected youth.

A hole in the ground.
A post in hand,
asks the question,
once more, again.
Should I flee
or go away,
to a life
of lonely exile?
Not for me.
Not my style,
for it won't
make me smile.

A maddening sound.
A mournful noise
on this morning,
the missing toys,
when a child,
much like me,
would be selfish;
not sharing joys.
Play by himself,
no other boys,
now a loner.
What a mess,
it's my life,
I now confess.

I sit, with pen in hand,
all the words I have written,
have come with no plan.
No plan to follow.
No plan for me,
for there will never
be more hypocrisy.
Two hours sleep,
is not the way,
to start off the month
in a sleepy, tired day.