Floating as the fizzy froth of the rivers and the seas,
Trickling as twinkling teardrops I woefully weep...
The stolen souls were robbed by that rotten disease,
I refuse to let them rest, I refuse to let them sleep.

Coughs carved cracks in their collapsed lungs,
Yet they lied, "It'll be okay," with those tasteless tongues.

Drowning as ashes dyed a disgusting shade of gray,
Or buried six feet under as they decompose and decay.
To move on is more troubling than the lucky ones say,
So I'll cling onto the stolen souls, I'll beg them to stay.

Sniffles and sneezes splintered their torn tracheas,
Yet they mustered all their might amidst the mania.

Mourning in misery and melancholy memories,
Echoing of calm and comfort I clamber to keep...
The stolen souls will survive through the centuries,
For I refuse to let them rest, I refuse to let them sleep.

(Covid-19 was more than "just a cold")
© Alter Ego