The Anonymous One Speaks

It hardly bothered you when you heard
It had collected hundreds countries away,
wearing the mask of a hurricane.
Nor did it seep into you, sweep or sway
you when the guy downstairs passed away.
But now I’m wearing the mask of disease,
and whitecoat news has not been warm,
and the mask’s expression
has flung you into a storm.
It’s no monster, no menace,
It has not come to terrorize.
It’s a confirmation of what has ailed you,
the monster a child of selfish eyes.
Death’s but a mirror, the groom or bride
of what prevails inside.

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