This Spring’s a Psycho

Come to take our lives away

While we hide inside

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This March, Spring is Loss

Of what we thought was control

Of our little worlds

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This March, Spring’s gone mad –

Scattering buds of sickness

Seeding fit bodies –

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This Spring is Zombies

The Undead with the Living

(No one knows who’s who)

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This Spring is stealing

All our money, our nest-eggs

For a rainy day

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This Spring spawns madness

We hide ourselves away but

Still the virus comes

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(No wonder we’re scared

And sad and buying loo rolls

To wipe it all away)

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Crazy thief of Time

Of plans, hopes, closeness, futures

Still the virus comes

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While we stay inside

The season of life unfolds

Sick blossoms of death

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Days stretch into days

Blank nights of feverish dreams

Of gone, better times

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Like blossoms floating

On vague streams our memories

Drift down to the sea

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Those gone, better times

When once we sang in crowds now’s

Still, deserted streets

*

As we shelter from

These threats we’ve never seen

One small comfort’s true:

*

While you come for us,

Psychoid virus, we know death

Soon will come for you.

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Freddie Omm

March 2020

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I took the photo in Villach (once the home of Paracelsus the Alchemist) last month.