Charon, The Ferryman Is-Heard Singing Poem by Mark Heathcote

Our whole way of life is to be redefined.
Planes vacant as linin on a washing line
Hoarding shoppers fighting over loo rolls
No more sport, Olympics, footie or goals
Bars and restaurants our borders closed.
Hard-fought-for civil liberties bulldozed
Government policies yes are full of holes
(Better them than social media trolls) .

Death is now knocking on every door
He's slashing his scythe wildly to procure
Those with heart disease the diabetic;
He's quite-unholy unsympathetic.
He's taking the old the sick and the poor
Them with lung disease he takes premature.
In a lockdown without an end in sight
We've become jailbirds of the state tonight.

Darkness has befallen us one and all
A plague far worse than any black bedsore
Without prejudicial barriers, all-
Must answer a call, and sure enough, must stand tall.
As you're playing small does not serve the world.
While ghostly we are evilly purged
Everyone—we're-told, is dying alone
Caskets unceremonious, alone

Quarantined wait for cremation alone.
As family gatherings are postpone
We await the same fate as Italia,
While the virus grips like wisteria,
The Shepard with the lamb solemnly-sleeps
And not for the firstborn Death, he now creeps
Through every open crack and crevice
Down, every street child, and northern terrace.

Sees the first the last entre the chapel
We're all up shit creek without a paddle
Place palms together, and let's say a prayer
For a nationalized-country ensnare
Like Alice down the rabbit hole, drinking
A vial, lung capacity shrinking
Charon, the ferryman is heard singing
Your name - your name - your name he is bidding.