Locked-down from thousands of smiles,
And high volumes of sounds
The joy of looking at the skies compressed
With no light of hope.
Whatever we have hoped for still invisible.
Whom shall bring the light?
Who took the light?
As we ask ourselves trees grow, the sun goes around
Atleast we can see the Sun,
Shining through the miserable times we witnessed.
These times hit where we didn't expect
Thursday, August 6, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: confusion