The machines whirred

Weeks and weeks on end.

No one knew what they were for.

So much left unexplained

To a population

Needing answers, needing hope

To carry on, to wake up again.

The flags don’t wave.

The wind is gone.

The horizon shimmers with heat,

Forcing us all to seek cover.

Indoors, again. Huddled masses.

No comfort coming, no companion

Other than the mechanical drone

To remind us that we’re truly alone.

© 2021 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.

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