The Cure for Loneliness

A poem

Photo by Shoeib Abolhassani on Unsplash

I want to be hopeful.

I’m so tired of despair,
I’m so tired of sadness,
feeling every day like the feather pillow
forgotten to be fluffed
when the linens were changed.

Right now, I’m supposed to be angry.
Every day I’m supposed to be angry.

They say I should
be screaming at the sun,
screaming at the blood
swirling like oil
on top of Afghanistan sand,
screaming at the unvaccinated patients
staring from their hospital beds
so confused and afraid
of things they don’t understand.

But the worst pandemic
that ravages this world
is rage.

My voice is raw as a coyote’s,
wandered too far,
too close to the skyline
aglow with alien light,
missing its family
and yet drawn to the unknown.