Ace Of Black Hearts
What If No One Comes To Help?
Poison is the enemy.
Silent are its victims.
Some call it the flesh eating scourge.
Soon enough you'll be hearing another dirge.
Oh if only there was a cure.
But not this time.
Penetrate the body.
Through the water, upon the air.
On the table.
Entering through the skins pores.
Dissolved directly in to bloodstream.
With the sharing of needles another contagion has won.
Sterilization doesn't seem to be solving it.
Victory is not upon the road paved of gold.
Scores and scores.
The stench of a dead mans fire.
The aroma that forever sicking and knot the stomach.
What is total this time?
Tell me what is the morality?
Quick and virulent.
Up with chickens and just another one of the fallen by supper time.
Superstition does not help.
Go head throw the salt over your shoulder.
It won't stop a single microbe.
Some believe it was a weapon created by the government.
To wage war in a way that completely devastate a country.
Sick in the millions and still counting.
They couldn't find the source.
They don't know who was patient x.
Completely lost in martial law and quarantine.
Gunned down for trying to break free.
A catastrophe of our making.
Nothing we can really do but hope, pray, and wait.
Claimed servants of god push upon the desperate making a mockery of a already lost soul.
Even in such times, they will those who will rise above it.
Looking after each other, that is a humans ultimate duty.
No matter the chaos filled world, if someone is not will walk upon the darkness with a guiding light and a help hand.
Then we are already doomed, we just don't know it yet.
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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