The Pestilence and the Beast
Our life's force relies on a resource so futile.
Neither tears nor our stomach's bile
can bring the same, almost magical properties.
Trying to produce false copies results only in mockeries.
Then one day, a simply horrible day to say the least
an infection arose and a malicious beast.
Sparing neither infant, nor elderly, nor ill;
this beast and infection never quite drank their fill.
They drank and drank and killed and killed
as their partnership extended they became more skilled.
The people didn't go outside and barred their doors
some dug large pits right under their floors.
Whatever they tried, if they were in the two's way,
death would come slinking and stealing their life away.
The bodies piled up and were left to rot in the wind
but the people were only thankful they were not themselves pinned
to the police's ever growing faces board.
The police worked overtime, desperately trying to catch the Beast and Infection
Yet each time they came close, they were met with only dejection
as the duo faded away once more to resurface elsewhere.
A man as-of-yet unheard of among common circles, a hunt extraordinaire
Came forth and claimed he would, the damage done by the duet, repair.
Those people who dared, cried out in joy once the news reach them
but the elderly and supposedly wise rose to condemn.
They preached of the Lord's grace and His punishment
and so the saviour man was rebuffed, and days later found rent
limb from limb and head from torso, his skin pale where once blood flowed.
Not a drop remained. And so the wise men cried "See our truth!
This strange man came here with false hope! This stupid youth!"
And so the people remained where they were, dwindling in number
waiting with arms wide for the day they would slumber.
But the days dragged on and those who remained
were left to take care and dispose of those who were drained.
The Beast and the Pestilence grew tired now and slowed their kills,
the police hoped against hope that this slowing would still.
That the killing would cease and recovery begin.
Hopes were high and the people, this time, did not give in
Hope gave way to truth and truth to rejuvenation.
The streets were repaved in a bid of reformation
and the buildings were scrubbed until they shone, from the slums to the city.
The alleys and backstreets were no-longer gritty.
And soon the world shone with the light of a new start.
No-one was scared that their 'new start' would fall apart.
Fall apart it did, though it was years and years later,
when that time was forgotten and their comfort grew ever greater.
The Sickness was wary though, for advances in science
had taken a toll on Death and his alliance.
The Beast was a mongrel now, spoken of only in stories
the two of them now in their own purgatories.
The Pestilence couldn't sicken and weaken and taunt
the Beast couldn't kill and ravage and daunt.
And so they went on, the two of them weary
of their peers' constant and pitiless jeering.
Their fellow fear-mongers were still in business
and they revelled in the previous top-leveler's saddened existence.
And so the two out-casts, once feared and admired
were sent out of the world into the Discarded Quagmire.
And there they remained for all of eternity
forced to watch in horror at the growing modernity.
They weren't needed, and neither were other horrors
for the humans themselves began to fear all the others.
A trickle then a river of past fears and phobias came to live there
in the Quagmire of the lost, unneeded and the unaware.
((one of my earlier poems, lets flash back to my old story form))