An End

A sonnet

Photo by William J Spirdione

Living with all the death that surrounds us,
One starts to think of our mortality.
We can still talk to those who left, but guess,
Can they listen? In what modality?

Death of polite family relations.
Death of citizens camaraderie.
Dead from disease and disinformation.
Dead representative democracy.

We drag the dead behind us. Not thinking,
If and when they want to be so carried.
Carving furrows in muck while we’re sinking.
Our marks will join theirs, we’ll all be buried.

Dog barks. A car drives by. I hug my wife.
We have to remember. We have our life.