Struggle XII

By Andrew R. Duckworth

The whole world changed in a week.
Everything about me changed.
My eyes changed,
Seeing through webs
Spun under a blanket of night,
Long evading my vision.
When bells should have rung
In memory of the departed,
No one was in
The bell tower.
The streets were calm at least,
But my soul was restless,
Agonizing over the world’s end.
We would never open up again,
I was convinced.
No more shaking hands.
Instead, a quick glance
And a faster pace,
Staying our distance.
No more hugs save through
A plastic curtain.
Struggle had wrapped coils
Around the Earth and one tight
Squeeze could rip it in half.

The week before, I had worked
At the university in person.
Part of me wanted the dark
To last just a week,
But the realist in me
Knew what happens in the
Darkest nights of humanity.
I would never see the library
After that week.
It’s a memory now.
I have no need to see it again,
Just a relic of what was
Before the chaos,
A chaos that still exists
Albeit in a different form.
The world did end in a way,
The end to civilized,
The end to illusion.
New murals have been painted
Over the old.
Before, they read “Stop Hate.”
Now, they read “Hate Them”
In letters more carefully
Crafted than the original.