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?

Six whole months of wasted time. Glass eyes gleaming with lonely moods. Let’s agree to disagree. Pining for a taste of truth.

Will we stumble through this fog, A bump in a road leading out To change our ways, to see our wrongs Humanity can’t know what it’s about.

Will we stay present, sure on our path Grounded, unwavering stance. A sense of purpose filling up The cracks and lines of weary dance.

It all comes down to mental health This is our world, this is our life Beyond time and future fear Can we stay present and enjoy the ride?