The Wind of death, it is blowing in,
Across the lands, over the seas.
It stretches its wings, an eagle unseen,
From its sharp talons, none can flee.
It may arrive a gentle breeze,
Softly caressing the shoulders of some.
On other days it makes many freeze,
A cold wintry gust it has become.
Suddenly it rises, a ferocious tempest,
Rushing recklessly, a deafening roar.
It tramples on all from east to west,
Dragging many towards death's door.
Each day we're kept at the edge of our seats,
As the news is announced, our anxiety builds.
We're told of victims, whom this wind beats,
Of whom it injures, of whom it kills.
Some left unscathed by the soft and gentle breeze,
Others survive the gust, struggling and weak.
Some have succumbed in deep tempestuous seas,
Swept away into darkness: bitter, barren, and bleak.
Winds of death.
By Harolde Huang
Wednesday 2021.04.28 15:55 hrs
GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharolde #pandemic #covid19
