Echoes in my Dreams

Whisps of promised help
puff on the breeze
of viral-infused breath
as the screeching cries
of the cremated ill
haunt my restless dreams.

Look out! My steps
tread their harrowed haunts
as breath-deprived shades
wander over desolate streets.

Echoes of the abolished
reverberate in hollow speech,
and dead-tired eyes,
of the medically traumatized…

….and death waits in
beds of the abandoned….

…..as scenarios that tabulate
life and death choices
morph from dark probabilities
into grimly stark reality.

I wake up with fragments of poems from my dreams.  It seems the virus has its hold on my mind.  This is a 4-word-line free poem.