Pestilence Poem by John Weber

Fell out of bed upon my head
After dreaming I snapped this thread
Sorrow whispers filled me with dread
As I pondered what lied ahead

Stubbed my toe on a soul laid low
His wounded tale filled me with woe
Such remote hopes dashed long ago
The mountaineer climbed a plateau

Could not command my quaking hand
Raging from that pineal gland
Toiling through such mortal demand
So my liver could turn to sand

I spied a flea chowing foul brie
These perked insects still torture me
His scissor mouth tossed up a plea
Begging for some Omega-3

Blood spurted out from the sink spout
Surely there's no pathogen drought
Orders of saints began to shout
Till my bathroom was deemed devout

Fire and turmoil sparked up to broil
As my kitchen became the foil
That cursed stove offered boiling oil
While all the food began to spoil

Locusts and bees prepared a squeeze
Hoping to plant me on my knees
While they consumed fodder with ease
Their hairy legs proffered disease

Brats from the crown gathered around
To point fat fingers towards the ground
Corruption scrambled to surround
Yet quests for truth shoved most profound

That dreary day begged me to slay
To make those ancients start to pay
For tearing down this brave hideaway
And quashing our civil foray

You served as mage to quell my rage
Urging my logic to engage
The loyal keeper with his cage
So the fresh page can guide as sage