Round and Wound

The emptiness settles over me like fog rolling over hills and mountain tops
And space, there’s not enough to keep him from my thoughts
He’s got the world in his hands while my soul it sits and rots
Round and wound he tunes us up like we are clocks
And reason not as simple as connecting dots
So doubt fills my head now thick as clots

© Delia Ross. 2020

Mandatory social distancing; an introverts wet dream

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