Battle with the Pathogen

Troubled was the mind,

Engulfed with constant murmur of grief;

The screeching sound of ailment added to the grind,

Fragrance of petals turned to smokes of disbelief,

and Seeds of allegation were planted all around.

Moved away from the jolted paranoia, holding the fiddle of hope,

Faith they said is a charade of the unsound;

Flustered images of pain caused the mind to slip into the dreaded slope,

Holding Hands with a belief of an improved path we marched.

Repeated attacks dwindled our firm grip throwing us down,

Giving up was not the weakness for which we were carved;

Fought the pathogen till its last breath blowing its crown,

Gleeful we assembled to cherish the new dawn!