Sick of Now

When The Dying Are Unveiled
(Four Poems of the Apocalypse )
Part I

Sick of Now / Mark Mosley 

I have fought with doctors
over the movement of the dying
bodies filled with bottles
of water, salt and blood.

They have taken them away,
green plants and flowers,
for fear that growth
might compromise others.

Everyone in gowns
smells of alcohol,
afraid that our hands
will not be shown.

We have lost
our ears and coats
that crossed our chest
with wings of a god.

With masks on every mouth
I keep hearing the words
“I can’t breathe.”- and reaching,
see the blood on my sleeve.

This infection of opinion
has left truth open
to a coffin of politicians
and a company of harm.

I have held my hands together
but I am losing my grip;
wanting so much to touch 
something, but rather just let go.

Next Part II: Battle of Six Feet

Sick of Now: Copyright 2021 by Mark Mosley. All rights reserved.