Are we quorate?

The loss of one’s community,
The shard and splintered unity,
Beleaguered, they sink a fraction lower,
Bad fortune repeats, the energy slower.
As the masses lose the will to cope,
Consumed and blinded, the loss of hope,
Which groove fits body, soul and mind,
What influence ceased being so kind?
Is desperation new, or ever-present but stealth,
The spiral rusty staircase of the world’s mental health?
On icebergs, in storms secluded, their connection is collision,
Drifting, unmoored, deluded, suicide is no decision.
So eyes open, embrace the rocks, those brave Spartan carriers,
The compassion warrior spirits, hacking at your barriers,
They’re there to be seen, standing tall, no shadowed enigmas,
The crutch to you in need, no shame and no stigmas.
And believe this as you stretch, for a saviour in all their armour,
That they were once where you are, but now their lives are calmer.
As someone reached out for them, that person made a stand.
So move towards the light, and don’t lose grip of that warm, hand.
©PEDRO-BATPOET 2018