The Present Grace Lipson Like a fog settling between us, Of distrust, unsettling times. Tape markings on the sidewalk, Waiting for a ghostly line. Friends reduced to tiny boxes, Covering a tiny screen, The once vast world we thought we knew Dissolved before ever truly seen. To think of all we took for granted, The sense of true community, Kindness, conversation, compassion, Seeing strangers as an opportunity. City sounds, shrill but familiar Cracking the morning silence like a whip Blue skies dotted with woolen clouds Hot streets steaming with evening mist. The rich, pungent smells of life Smiles on the street The glint of a forgotten coin, Lying at a stranger’s feet. Now weariness, anxiety, fear Suspicious glances, pure distrust; Some only see potential danger, Society crumbling to dust. Fear, confusion feeds the fire This new world of trickery A sun setting in an orange fog, Can we make it through this misery?
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