Death Marked the Fourteenth Century

It first came, creeping through the sky, Forboding clouds, poisoned by black dye. As if Kronos tossed and turned, as he slept, Longing for his beloved Gaia, as he wept, Tears, the harshest tears gods could cry. Had Hades frozen over? Was the end nigh? It soiled crops and stripped the ground, Of everything good, of everything sound. Stark naked, bone bare, every living thing, Had been darkened by a white, icy sting. Harvest and people, stripped to nothing, Left in a horrible state of wanting. Overcome by hunger, no food there to eat, The people succumbed to a ravenous feat. Scarcity, vacancy, had made them indigent. So lost from humanity that man ate infant. This, however, was not enough punishment, For a second attack, this creature was sent. It came by sail, on the ocean inauspicious, Traveling inside furry vermin, malicious. With a bite, more terrorizing than cold, It took the lives of young and old. Spreading through the blood, bleeding within. It left dark blotches, marking the skin. No need for a third, frontal attack, A mark had been made, dark, black. Unlike before, no physical blemish, It seethed into the heart, a victor’s finish. For death had triumphed against mankind, Corrupting with blood, the innocent mind. Live for pleasure, for tomorrow you die! Nothing could save them, so why even try? Those that believed judgment had begun Flogged themselves, praying to atone. They bled themselves dry, to self abate. But Death continued, pain turned to hate. Death grinned as man turned against man, Everything was going according to plan. The rich lowered the wages of the peasant folk, And so the peasant’s anger, they did stoke. Certainly, the wages of war is death But death can wage war, using man’s breath. If a Peasant revolt did not stain enough mud, Then a Hundred Year War would shed the blood. A continuous flow of blood, never depleted, Till one day the English army was defeated. Although it was victory, it was not grand, For Death, a black horse, scales in its hand, Had taken so many lives, it could not count, Death marked the fourteenth century, without doubt.