Least Read Poems About Tragedy

When the clock stroke eleven fifty-nine
On December twenty nineteenth
Less then a minute for what
Would be the new norm,
Who would have thought,
That was the last “normal”
the world would ever witness.
Each passing of days,
Its more challenging to live
To breath,
The oxygen that freely was given
If humanity would practice more kindness
We would be two steps forward
Then centuries backwards,
The  last couple of days,
Hesitant  
and pondering on what seem
to be extraterrestrial,
Voices...

What does it truly take  
either a flood or a quake      
to undo      
all of the once done      
      
Throw things off kilter      
not letting the mind filter      
the stream of flow      
what it hopes to know      
       
Images then flee      
ideas no longer free      
to be followed      
as they dash helter-skelter      
       
Like some summer swelter      
melting the iron beams      
all that it seems      
to now unbecome ...      
       
Now no longer...