Be Vigilant

The new strains are growing,
More infectious, harsher,
The kind we were happy Covid wasn't,
Wen this started, last year,

Before the protests against mask-wearing,
Then conspiracy claims,
Though if this was the illuminati,
I can't even begin to guess their aims,

So twelve months of practice at being safe,
Don't think we've learned a lot,
If the nose above that mask's any clue,
Or the headache I've got,

So, strap in tight,
By that, I mean your mask,
Vaccines only work against what is known,
Nothing is known until it has attacked.

We, The Damned

There's too much to catch up,
Though nothing's really changed,
War persists, though fronts have slightly shifted,
Some leaders rearranged,

The poor are still poor, the rich much richer,
The irony remains,
That rather than fixing disparity,
Most wish they and the wealthy were the same,

It's true, aliens seem to be closer,
Seems they were never far,
Word is they don't want much to do with us,
Our poverty and war,

But who are they?
Is their past so sublime?
Questions that same more of the questioner,
Answering why they think we're so behind

The More Things Change

Is it getting closer?br> It seems late, already,
Not to be a harbinger of despair,
But where's Covid for me?

The safety of isolation's just fine,
With death at your doorstep,
When it's out visiting other people,
Privileged indignance is what you get,

I won't be happy until I can wheeze,
Through a ventilator,
"I did all I could to protect myself,
"What has it all been for?"

I just don't know,
But then, I never did,
The same old armchair philosophizing,
Kept prosperity from me like the plague.

Thousands Imprisoned

I am a prisoner,
Within my own country,
Not because of an act against someone
But wishing to be free,

Those are the sentiments of some Russians,
Who protested Putin,
Who ironically are now in jail,
What a cunundrum they have been put in,

Just for being born within some borders,
That have and will still change,
Police in black sent to beat them with clubs,
Life behind serpeant fangs,

So close, yet far,
What does true freedom mean?
If you have never uttered that question,
My guess is that you're not a human being.

Fear Life

Be on the precipice,
Whatever that might mean,
Unless you're teetering on the cliff's edge,
True life is never seen,

Beyond the safety of the sturdy ground,
Where footfalls waver not,
Where falling means you can get up again,
Despaite what others on the edge had thought

Those reporting on sights fear denies most,
While lauding from afar,
Either from the squalor in which their trapped,
Because life can be harsh,

Or luxury,
For a few do get that,
Who would never, though could, face the abyss,
But then, might lose it all when they come back.

Well, It Might Be Too Much

A month and new year's not,
Enough to erase it,
So I may as well write another one,
To finally admit,

What's been lying underneath all along,
Refusing any truth,
Coursing through the veins of every person,
With their dinner wine and dessert vermouth,

The imbued fear meant for the nth factor,
That might up and revolt,
Even though everyone knows they're the first,
To unfasten the bolts.

So why bother,
When good outweighs the bad?
You can't imagine what we could create,
With no restrictions on what we could have.