A Poem

Bad Kind of Silence

The Constant Fear of What’s to Come

Photo by Yaron Cohen on Unsplash

We know what’s to come, but we don’t know who, when, or how.

Day by day wondering if it’s our time to go.

All signs point to no, but who knows if this is just for now?

Just as we get comfortable, we can be next and can’t believe so.

Until we must take a final bow,

Each day feels like we’re putting on an unending show,

And we continue to not say much, because we feel so low.

Thanks for reading! What do you think of this poem? It’s been a while since I’ve written on Medium. I wanted to try something new and write a poem.