A large hungry beast,
lurking shadows
stealthily wait to pounce.
A split second only
you let down your guard.
The silent stalker waits,
it is eerily silent
like covid/Floyd times.
Icy snow sparkle
white streets empty.
Even the wind
has ceased to shriek.
Heavy like the hush
right before the storm.
Spare medieval times,
when armies gather
quiet ‘round the fire.
Too silent to sleep,
we lie alone alert.
So very very still
arms corpse-like
crossed over chests.
Scarcely breathing
awaiting the storm.
Hope’s a match struck
flickering embers we fan.
