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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