I start to stumble.
I start to fall,
down the stairs,
out in the hall.
Why can't I walk,
with an unsteady leg?
Must I fall down
and then have to beg?
My balance, was once my pride,
now it is almost all gone
away from my right side.
My mind is a mess,
of this I am sure,
for I now have duress;
of that I do know.
Good God please help me
for I've no place to go.

Why wax and wain
of a sad refrain.
It makes no sense,
in this experience,
when whines and cries
portend our demise.

The randomness of words,
lay on my plate.
Too many words may come
and they will suffocate.
The thoughts that are now
running through my head,
wishing they were happy,
but No; fearful instead
The words have become hateful;
not what they should be,
for I care for my own
and for strangers too,
as life has given pause
of what one can do.
A scary situation. It's been hard,
for if you are not diligent
and let your down your guard
you could be the victim
of Co-vid nineteen.

I do not like
the words that I write,
for some are cruel
and others quite trite.
Has the hate of one person
ruined my one good trait,
or must I rethink the words
and I can write and wait?