THE VIRUS IS MAN-MADE

At the threshold of fate:

To be, or not to be.

A virus was nursed and doctored

By unknown serial killer

At a dawn of a new decade.

Killing both high and low.

Without anytime soon, to slow.

In my quizzical glare, ten thousand fell.

Like the seeds by the roadside.

Which silent modern science.

And the world still fidgeting,

Like med students before cadavers.

No more lab rats but human experiments.

Does earth now loathe carcasses

Like a vulture that is over fed?

Because we are all vulnerable

To this serial killer!

But where is our mount Zion?

For how long does God really care?

And where did we go wrong?

Or, this is a purge —

That was long overdue?

Yet no clue to the cause-effect.

Twenty first century — no vaccines!

The gods are not to blame!

For every dog has its day.

And for every man is his own architect.

But God is not a man!

He tempts not, but tests.

This is an epistle of hope.

You must stay alive to telltales,

Only if you adhere to the commandments.

As the Romans do to the Papacy!

Because, this too shall pass!

Like the Spanish flu of yesteryears!

But first, we must turn to our Maker.

The only hope for mankind!

- Umukoro Philip. [color=#770077][/color]