The Plague Doctor’s Son
Nobody questioned when all would be well
when everybody seemed stuck in plague rage
and children knew of death before old age
a time when Governments crumbled and fell.
We fed others our poisons as a cure
a hellish juice my Father created
a desire behind mask he hated
all living knew who the Plague Doctors were.
So, thousands died from the poisons we gave
my family survived as many perished
we knew we were shameless killers blessed.
Sometimes obsession rules how we behave
and leads to destruction of our cherished
living security we once confessed.
How did this Father and Son fall so low?
How did this pair end up in Hell’s hot wrath?
To gather all diseased along the path
with Father out front and his son in tow.
When plague finally took the Holy Seer
and left an infant Prince without parents
the lands now riddled with this abhorrence
a world removed now beyond simple fear.
The Father to survive tended to the dead
thousands of corpses surrounding one life
and forced his son to help remove the bodies.
As family man would keep his family fed
among the ruins and among the strife
active participants of grim follies.
Usually a small crowd of living
would shout their praise to both the Plague Doctors
who upon a feeble stage as actors
would pretend their job was pure and giving.
They did not deserve fame for their poor art
and only washed for moments of reprieve
would grab a husband and leave wife to grieve
with diligence they filled their bloody cart.
The Son remembers when he still had faith
the Father only searched for thoughtless wine
both wished for end of all the pestilence.
They worked as ghosts themselves another wraith
among the perished who no longer dine
upon humanities lost innocence.
My Father fallen started caustic fun
within his black kitchen his wayward zeal
his desire to bring himself to feel
strands of sanity had become undone.
When I, his Son, fell into madness too
and never pondered over our nature
to accept death as the Plague’s only cure
then call the Reaper to take more then few.
We cured the grieving with our passioned brew
and placed our holy drop upon their tongue
and I respected Father as I should.
So soon this world became the world I knew
the Plague Doctor’s Son remained always young
while gathering the flesh for pyre with wood.
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