While mother earth inhales and attempts a throwback pose
They helter skelter round the clock clad in blue like the fluffy bedspread above
Stethoscopes snaked around necks weary with burden
The battle is grotesque
Not the usual stuttering eloquence of rifles
But the darting speech of syringes, yawning of forceps and beeping of ECGs
Palms of healing lore breaking sessions with the reaper via heaps of pressure upon halting chests
Calm, plying troubled veins upon wheels of anesthesia
Tranquility possesses the arena like the flowing Thames
As the head butt begins between covid and its suffocation
Not all heroes wear capes, some wear good minds, some wear sane consciences, some wear
courage, while others seat their lives atop pegasus of chances in front of the dancing typhoon
The whirlwind of fate does what it wishes, bequeathing a tempest of intricate tides