Sunday, February 14, 2016



It came, multiplying in like kind,
From a strangers hand it found,
A pitiless path on primitive mind,
And a body of fertile ground.

It crossed the vacuums of the air,
A simplistic entity of genetic lie,
And found safe haven through my despair,
In the harbor of my eye.

Gates flew open with its master keys,
As antibodies rushed to defend,
On fields of blood a fever seethes,
Where the aches and chills begin.

Riots of cosmos, poisoned and cursed,
Battle germs of invadering bands,
Night air makes it far the worst,
As I sneeze into my hands.

Exhausted in a fitful sleep,
In dreams of twistering bits,
The invaders child drifts from its keep,
And on my hand it sits.

To rid the virus may seem coarse,
But to win one has to pay,
It’s fact invaders leave their host,
Only when given away.

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