A wandering Unhappiness

How do you get so empty? Who takes it out of you? Ray Bradbury

The wandering unhappiness

It was the plague
No history books named
That hung over their heads
In plumes of London smog
That choked their airways
First they coughed
And then they sneezed
The doctor prescribed
Honey and Lemon tea
The other symptoms
Fell below the radar
Only when their hearts
Stopped beating and when
Their eyes glazed unseeing
Did they understand
They had been walking
The murky plank
Between living and sleeping


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