By Jacquline Munro
Each day
Each day mergers into the next day
Monday merges into Friday
Friday into Sunday
Wednesday does not even
Come into play
There is no delay
No sway
No time to pray
As the symbolic ritual
Has been abandoned
Voices in the church
Is now a scandal
The devil has worked its way across the land
The desert
The city
The spiritual atmosphere is misty
Voices crying
Pity
Pity
Pity
Strangling the voices
That once called out the sprite
That once had no doubt
That lived on hope
A structured way on how to cope
Many now pulled into this
Confusion
Illusion
Into this pandemic onslaught
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