Pestilence

A man makes a fatal decision out of empathy.

As I lay here, sickly in bed,
And think on people gone,
It startles me to know their fate,
When plaugue has set upon.

The year thirteen forty seven,
And in the month of May,
Come with the rats and on their backs,
That black death grim decay.

First to ill my sister Mary,
Not but twelve years in age,
Tried to ail her ill's with a cure of,
Cider, vinegar, sage.

To our dismay it did not work,
Within ten days she dead,
But not the end of misery,
For surely this be said.

The death of Mary was but,
The twilight of our distress,
For soon to follow what seemed like,
The deaths of all the rest.

It took my mother, and my wife,
My brother and his child,
It took my neighbor and the priest,
My aunts case though was mild.

And as the priest died, In front of us,
We asked the same as he,
What reason God's forsaken us,
His wrath rain down on thee.

Buboes, black spots, and bloody froth,
Became a daily thing,
And if you listen with your ear,
For Hark! You'll hear death sing.

A multitude of bodies lay,
The streets of Florence full,
And o the stench when they decay,
A paradise for ghoul.

The doctors with their bird like masks,
With flowers in the nose,
Do tell me I should keep away,
When bodies I dispose.

For is my job to pull the cart,
And corpses I retrieve,
In ghastly graves and enmasse,
The departed I then leave.

The most grim scene I've ever known,
Unholy sepulcher,
This day a child I lay to rest,
No priest to pray for her,

I fear I have taken fever,
And what is next to rise,
Surely from the child take I,
The source of my demise.

I did not, the heart to cast her,
Upon that horrid heap,
Instead dug her a grave her own,
And o'er her body weap.

Author's Note

Fourteener common meter

Reviews

[Red Brick Keshner]

Oh my. This historical poem rings true in our generation for such a fear grips us all. My daughter and I used to watch the 'stupid death' song from Horrible Histories kids program but their treatment of this pales in comparison. Somewhere in the very core of us we know. Our altruism springs forth in most unlikely circumstances. That even to the death of us would ensure us no second chances. Is he hero or poet or idiot. Perhaps all. To be human is to be humane. Thanks for sharing. /Frederick.

[Gideon X. A. Elson]

Thank you so much ... to be human is to be humane... one could hope

[Dave Brown]

It never ends, if not some kind of plague then mankind steps in to physically aid the slaughter
A very well written reflection on one of the sorrier aspects of man's demise
We are born to die and always manage to do it no matter what the method
Will AI one day make mankind irrelevant

[Kim S.]

The doctors with their bird like masks,
With flowers in the nose,
Do tell me I should keep away,
When bodies I dispose.

WOW!!! This is deep and kind of intriguing in a way, wonderful read

[[email protected]]

Grim in an almost Poe fashion. I love works with dark themes. Keep it up.

[lightsong]

Unfortunately this way of killing people has been there since long long time. your poem is very strong. very well written. no doubt that You pulled it out all of your chest and heart. do take care of your self my friend. all the best~

[Gideon X. A. Elson]

It is very sad indeed, I was trying here to get my readers to connect more personally. I just waited until the end to do it! Thank you for stopping by and come again!

[M. J. Smith]

The history portrait (afraid I can't spell tonight) is incredible. Well captured. Sometimes compassion bites us in the rear. But if we knew our fate, would we still do it? Christianity teaches us to not count the cost. But that faith can be hard to find in crisis. A wonderful read here.

[Gideon X. A. Elson]

Well said my friend, for we do not know how we would act until it comes time to do so. Thank you for stopping by!

[Pauline]

Hello Gideon. I loved this piece and the way in which it was written. You captured the plague well. Hats off to you.
Pauline.