Plagues of a Modern Age #7

The rivers ran red, not with blood but with data—  

Leaked, stolen, corrupted, and sold.  

An ocean of truth turned toxic with secrets,  

A digital tide where the powerful hold.  

Frogs leapt from screens in relentless invasion,  

Endless ads, distractions, and noise.  

They nestled in minds, in thoughts, in decisions,  

Croaking commands with an artificial voice.  

The gnats and the flies were the bots and the trolls,  

Swarming with rumours, with hate they would sting.  

A plague of deception, of viral contagion,  

Turning truth into dust on the wings that they bring.  

The cattle lay dying—our labour, our wealth,  

Bled dry by the greedy elite.  

Markets crash, empires fall,  

Yet they feast while we starve in the heat.  

Boils and sores break out on the masses,  

Not on the skin, but deep in the mind.  

A sickness of apathy, spreading through nations,  

A sickness that renders us blind.  

The hailstorm came not from the sky,  

But from missiles and market collapse.  

Raining down in a digital downpour,  

Wiping futures with cold keyboard taps.  

Locusts arrived in a swarm of corruption,  

Devouring the scraps that remained.  

Their hunger insatiable, greed without borders,  

A plague with no face, no name.  

Darkness descended—three days, three decades,  

A world where the sun lost its spark.  

Not from the sky, but within every nation,  

Blinded by greed, left groping in the dark.  

And then came the last—a death most silent,  

Not of flesh, but of souls worn thin.  

The firstborn of hope, of progress, of justice,  

Snuffed out before it could begin.  

These plagues will rise, they will never stop,  

Until the people finally see—  

That the chains they wear were never locked,  

And the key was always free.