A Wretched Wind
A wretched wind brought a baffling insidious thing,
in every land and clime to spread its virulent wings.
And ere long a wasteland of lonely tortured screams—
the shroud of silence falls like frost on a field of petunias
Will that carefree laughter be the same?
Will the world sing and dance again?

Now I fear my fellow beings,
as if in every breath this macabre thing.
In the streets I hide my face,
it may lurk in any place.
And I scarce venture in the city’s thoroughfares,
its wings may lightly brush me unaware.
I am scared to touch the knob of a door,
that’s where the invader may rest secure.
Even an innocent flower holds a menace,
if a human finger has embraced it.
And to the vigilance of daily living,
the ritual of exorcising this dreaded thing.
I sit quietly and read of adventures at sea,
tropical isles, coral reefs, and bending palm trees,
a diversion to quiet the pulse of obsessive care.
It takes me to the crowded open air,
the festive beat of drums, the life I knew,
before that wretched wind blew.

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