It is time to die

I bring suffering and leave only death.
It is a message anyone can understand
but none can escape my herald.

I am invisible though mortals leave signs
of my touch on their homes.
A rotting corpse, crucified and hanging has become their chosen symbol
but I have already marched on.

Burrowing beneath the skin I live in loved ones
and turn their joyous return
into a black puss filled day.
Boils blacker than any heart.
Skin more taut than any animal hide.
Rivers of weeping blood that no butchery can match.

I am the lone traveller's constant companion.
There is no distinction
between rich and poor, peasant and highborn
for I choose all as my recipients.

When I am finally uncovered it is already too late
and as horror washes over all
I flow through their veins to curse more in slow death.

Though my arrival is silent in my wake echo agonised screams
Sometimes mixed with the madness of theft or rape or muder
In time all shall become as silent as the grave
My touch penetrates deep in the night
whether wall or cloth or flesh is in my way
and I speed more souls on their way.

I ride no pale horse but bring death
I wield no sword but kill untold amounts
I am not famine but leave crops withered
I am disease in nature but not by name
I am God's wrath
My judgment is death
I am the Black Plague
Europe is my host and I feast on its body.


It is time to die.