Too Much Of A Bad Thing

I write an antibacterial poem
On an antiseptic page
My pen metaphysical
A library of blue black ink
Fading into sepia of cornucopia
I hold my own hand
Fingers restless 
I clasp, unclasp slowly
In a forgotten time
The smell of sanitizer
Stretches the length of my breath
Mumble of masked words
Mouthed in a wail of release
Fertile eyes turn rubble
In the stillness of silence
Unsure of speech..

Corona is a loner, it would not die for me
But it has put the world on hold
On bated breath that fails to rise
An ancient disease brought into a new-age
Sitting on chests of men , with a violence bringing oblivion of death  
Science has kept us  waiting while the world is on a death-wish.....