Self-isolation and house-bound: are we now naught but cave-people again?
Perfect time to paint the cave and go back to the primitive only the basics allowed: for hunter-gatherers.
With less ways to go outside we can look inside and stop trying to make computers from bloodied and battered stone-age brains: instinct knows what really matters - with age-old solutions to modern problems.
Amid all the screams and frantic Panic, You might hear Their wise whispers about prevention or inevitable repitition; but such wisdom might as well be hollered until the mad cows come home - seems worry is contagious.
I am a fucking philosopher, and can Smile at Midnight knowing Dawn Will return and You will rise with it; all because more than once I strayed far enough, stayed long enuogh and stared deep enough, there myself to be greeted by no one in those encroached times. So now with abyssal eyes that can reflect desires I smile at all, in all things; any mask to stop anyone facing the void.
A fleeting caress that transports; ghosting across senses seeing with mind's eye in amniotic rapture, Until disturbingly plunged back into the confused ocean of occurence; back to reality and its' strange delights.