April 11, 2020

The second in what I fear might be a quartet of poems.

Warhorseman

War hovers outside our walls

Waiting for the signal.

All he needs is his weaponry

Of blame, conceit and fear

To erupt from his pile of kindle.

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His horse paces nervously

Knowing that it's only a matter of time,

Before he's reunited

With his other kindred spirits

Recruited for the stupidity of mankind.

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Inside the walls people prepare appropriately:

Distances more than just physical,

Social down to their core,

They fall back on the limited resources

Amassed long before this became critical.

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Come November all will assemble

And set the track for a future bleaker

Than what April has brought.

The warhorseman patiently watches,

Knowing he’ll be stronger, we'll be weaker.