In days of change, twitter bursts into song, turning every tongue
To stung fire, there to fan flames and fuel them as former truths
Turn to ash. Labour lose Hartlepool, as their heartland drowns
On dry landscape; as those former waves of renewal turn
To the poet Steve Smith’s watered thrash. This latest crisis confirms
Not only the troubles that claim them, but us as well as we’re clinging
To the rudderless Tory raft, which sees itself rocked by its ‘making
Judas pure’ past advisor, whose testament is not new, or, Christian,
But more in line with the older and God’s call to Noah for Disaster’s
Arc serving as an unknown world’s fresh spacecraft. Now we are all
Animals and aliens, too, to each other. A friend in your house is exhibit,
Or perhaps specimen, who may or not house the germ, cast as a curse
Now across us; subject as they are to the objectives of a potentially
Dark regimen. Dr John Lees says it all in a recent posting on Youtube;
The facts long delivered have been as badly scribbled down as a Quack’s,
Giving a fast prescription to all, and without due consultation.
Innoculate quickly before both structure and vein start to crack.
The worst case scenario has been sourced and entirely set
As the template.  Fear’s syringe has injected not only scientific
Swamp but the drops that have dripped from on high and been
Placed in our ears, eyes, mouths and noses. Death has been turned
into Bingo. And now suddenly we believe it has stopped. But now,
It goes on, the struggle still to continue. It is a right wing world.
Angels spiral, unable to ascend, thanks to this with the loss of the left
As a discerning voice for most people, synthesised panic has primed
Every Christlike cheek for its kiss. Research in the Economic Times
Has relayed how Covid 19  is not a respiratory illness. It is vascular. 
This explains it and how it turn sits with cells, which have kept us all
In our own, afraid to see the light, or each other, which while it has
Recently broken, may just form the glimmers of some new
Understanding of hell. So those far fires still burn, as in the Sydney
Morning herald in which six hoteled and freshly positive people have been
Quarantined and caught Covid, despite vaccination, out of many more,
And so, through spores, its Lotto, from a motto that means its all risk.
Nobody ever said it cured all. But for how long it lasts is the issue.
Whether injection is plaster, the facts that are formed remain brisk.
And cheap at our cost, as we are invoiced through our taxes,
And the Government as Pharmaceutical pimps push our bounty
And our booty, too, onto spikes, such as the Sars-Cov 2’s spike proteins
That attach to cells in the first place, and seduce them into surrender,
To the point where immunity is indifference and unable to recall
The first like that came from God for those who believe, or,
From the Aliens’ ancient visit, or from chance or the fusion,
Nuclear or not which birthed space. A big bang long blown,
But re-appearing today as explosions of both the human brand
And behaviours slyly inserted, or projectiled out from the face.
The truth has been cast into cloud. We’re the breed that Noah
Sailed over. Our systems have turned to cried water and as those
Waters rise, the world turns, apparently away from the light
And into a new form of shadow, where strangely textured,
It is hard to read the road or streetsign. One year of life has been
A herculean labour each month, with two more added on
For good measure. And yet, there’s no Princess or prize waiting
For us and no summit claimed  in that time. Just more illusions,
And then the forms of confusion we favour, where we condemn
But do little to prepare the path for our climb, so we do a lot
Of moving through mud, hoping such mud will breed fields
And gardens which future communities will plough proudly
Through a return to the soil and pure wells. That sense of
A hard day’s labour, at last, and not one where compromise
Can uproot us, but rather send us towards a pride and place
For beginnings that many years from now, someone tells.
But are we just the tale for that time? Only truly here
For that warning? Time will tell. Hell is waiting.
But so is heaven, too.
Each works spells.
                                          David Erdos May 10th 2021

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