Corona - Farberism's Freewriting Poetry 2/24/25

The Guy from Farberisms

Corona

What we had,

And what we never held--

Mirrors of the same?

Confined in black remorse,

Boundaries on love--

A fool’s game.

To ergot is to dance, to Salem, to bewitch.

Living is what’s hard; dying is a cinch.

All things must pass--always they do--

Whispers through curtains still come from you.

The words of one true sentence,

Captured mid-flight,

The tapping Corona’s penance--

Wresting my storm’s fight.

Listen for the wind,

For within it lies

The words of one truth,

A sacred rain of couth,

Searching for a home

That darkness cannot sleuth.

The words we had--

Spoken, written, and thought--

That died in the gutter,

Refusing to be bought.

They’d rather fade and blow.

To a place where hands wave free

Than be lost in a place

That belongs to me.

Peace, Chris

Dr. George Sheehan