The Plague Will Rise Again #10

The plague will rise again.  

Once it is hungry, it will come for you.  

It will feast on your children, maim your wives and daughters,  

And when your screams have turned to whispers,  

It will leave you naked and barren,  

A husk of a civilization that dared to dream.  

It has chewed the olive trees to pulp,  

Spat their roots into the faces of the world.  

The earth weeps resin tears,  

But the court of justice is blind and mute.  

No gavel can break the bones of tyranny,  

No verdict can unwrite the war policies  

Scrawled in blood and coded in steel.  

The plague drafts its commands in diabolical ink,  

Announces its hunger in broad daylight.  

It does not whisper—it declares.  

It does not hide—it parades.  

Drones hum lullabies of death overhead,  

Warships carve silence into the sea,  

And Chinooks rain down metal blessings  

From a sky that once swore to shelter you.  

Your screens flicker with its gospel.  

Your leaders kneel before its gold-plated throne.  

The plague builds empires out of lies,  

And feeds you scripture written in the language of conquest.  

Your gods are dressed in uniforms now,  

Their miracles measured in megatons.  

Yet you will not speak.  

You will not move.  

You will not stop it.  

For you have seen this before.  

You have seen it under the banners of Rome and Russia,  

Spain and Britain, Ottomans and Mongols.  

The plague does not die.  

It only sheds its skin.  

A thousand names, a thousand crowns,  

Yet the hunger never fades.  

And when it comes for you,  

It will not need to hide.  

It will already own your thoughts.  

It will already have your prayers.  

It will already be your god.