Florence P. Wordsmith

The Black Plague

Don't go outside, my mother said
all there is sickness
but I was a curious, dumb young lad
my skull not lacking thickness
I'll just be out a minute, said I.
I'll make sure to beware.
but I was not prepared to see
the bodies layin' everywhere
It was hard to take at a young age
Seeing also those people lying
My mind was filled with fear and rage
That I would join those people, dying
So I ran back inside the house,
but it was to my alarm
a sickly fly the size of my eye
had bit me on the arm
'You're one of them! ' My mother yelled
she beat me with a broom
Before I could react to this
She fled to the secret room
And as she locked herself inside
And my body groaned and seethed
I couldn't help but feel some pride
and the first fresh air outside I'd breathed
And know I live out on the streets
I've found that I have come to find
It's better to be sick in flesh
than to be sick in one's own mind

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Poem Edited: Wednesday, April 1, 2009

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