Gold Chains Round Our Necks, Hellbounds at Our Heels – Gwil James Thomas

March 28, 2020

15.03.2020.

On the last bus out of the city
my scrambled gym bag of belongings
beside me –
we stop at the lights as two cop cars
zip across the asphalt with sirens blaring,
on the otherwise empty street.

It’s all happening so quickly and in truth
nobody really knows anything yet –
other than what happened a few days ago
in Madrid seems to be happening here.

Outside a distant megaphone voice
tells everyone to lock their doors –
there’s an invisible killer running amok,
before we jump the lights and depart.

Beyond the city limits a raven glides
across the now open road –
reminding me that some will adapt
to this change better than others,
whilst the sun silhouettes the mountains
that shimmer with a surreal beauty upon
not knowing when I’ll see them again.

Yet, everything’s still as numbered as
it always was –
it just felt far easier to be
distracted from that
yesterday.

 

Sure as Shit.

 

Humanity’s
faced
adversity
before and
will after.

The road
ahead’s
rocky –
snake oil
salesmen
will crawl
out from
under
rocks –
but some
of us are
in this
together.

Someday,
stories of
survival
will be
swapped
over
campfires
and pints –
as future
kids will
yawn,
as they’re
told how
people
held on by
a thread,
but also
how hope
dies last.