Trapped Inside – poem

I recently had a quick stab at writing a topical poem whilst in lockdown. 

A house can be a bit like a mind;
perfectly fine when you’re not confined.
A nice, safe place to wander,
till it’s all that you are left to ponder.
You find yourself pacing the same old rooms,
digging around in the same old tombs.
Restlessness and lethargy in a tug of war,
it’s hard to tell the time anymore.
The threats outside bring a sense of dread,
so you close the curtains, keep it out of your head.
Hours spent in bed wrapped in guilt and shame,
when you can’t help others and you’re “wasting” your days.
You can’t wait to leave but fear takes grip,
things could get worse, you’re sure of it.
The nation’s consciousness has been transferred,
through social isolation to protect the herd,
into the state of mind of the clinically depressed,
a difficult state for most to digest.
One difference is hope if you dare to look about.
Most melancholy minds can’t see the way out.
But soon all this will come to an end,
and our nation’s minds will start to mend.