Pestilence Poem by C H Sund

Upon this land disease at hand
virulent and vile.
Hiding low, just biding time,
clocks ticking deep inside.

What triggers the attack unknown,
but who it attacks is known.
And as we watch, pestilence flies.
Pandora just keeps coming.

Names are many… too many now
soup du jour with a twist.
New strains morphed yet again
and the results… still the same.

Humanity attacked all sides now
Devil, God… all names evoked
Dialogue while shouting things?
Guns are quicker… echoes few.

Civility, dying daily, dying