The Plague

In the depths of my mind, I am faced with a glare

A reflection so familiar, discarded it’s giving way

To revelations not my own

To a disfigured face

And as I’m staring intently at myself

The fragments rearrange into new shapes

I revel in the fractures from which

I have been remade

In my eyes, the views still remain

Black and white are there, but fading, inviting a redder stain

I come away with shades that I’ve known

Grimmer scenes to paint

The sickness that now faces them all

Spitting image of the cure that answers its call

It’s a sign written endlessly along

Their history’s crumbling walls

In the depths of my mind, I am faced with a choice

A decision not my own, an outcome I can’t refuse

I recall, again, how it plays out

With each mirror faced

There’s another threadbare noose

And as I stare in silence, the air fills with their voices

Whispers of death from violent minds spoken through fragile bones

And I

Cannot resist their

Their impulses

Any more than I can subdue my own

The sickness that now faces them all

Spitting image of the cure that answers its call

It’s a sign written endlessly along

Their history’s crumbling walls