When lovers wandered hand in hand
And children raced from door to door,
When every hour’s falling sand
Revealed to us an altered shore,
Each moment of the world felt new,
But time has now been spun askew.
Although the planet’s spin persists,
Our days are draped with stagnant mists
That swallow up our lives’ progression
As we endure this plague’s oppression.
We need a modicum of hope
To focus the uncertain scope
Of future’s course, to give direction
And help us feel time’s onward force –
A pathway toward renewed connection
To realign us with our source.Over the past several weeks, I've not posted much poetry. In part, that's due to the fact that I've been focusing more on recording music to share on Facebook. But, it's also because I've been having trouble finishing poems during this period when time seems so different. I'm not exactly sure of the reason, but I think it has something to do with how it's harder to notice progress and change as the days blend together, and as almost all my time is spent inside my apartment. That's more or less what this poem is expressing.
