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| "Shambling forwards, immune to pain..." |
Pestilence Plagues.
Inside one's core, a lone agent sits
Devoid of emotion, unaffected by wits
One objective only - to divide and conquer
The corpus of Man, for if it waits longer
Reinforcements come in, a white phalanx of knights
Consuming the invaders, killing pathogens in their sights
An axe cannot chop a river, and the filth now pervades
Each aspect of the victim, all ticking time grenades
Waiting to explode and unleash hell
"Is everything all right?" No, all is not well!
"This man is sick!" He needs medical attention!
The filth may as well live in another dimension
For no drug, human or natural, can purge this rot
Away from Man, nor can it help the wounds clot.
Blood weeps from both skin and eyes
Doctors try to console Man with warm, soothing lies
He thrashes and screams, wanting liberty from this pain
All he will get is a touch of caustic rain
Searing through muscle, tearing through ligament
By ligament, forcing one to be ever so vigilant
Feasting on antibiotics, staving off infection
Keeping peace in the body, reaching out for perfection
One moment of perfection, which never seems to stay
Leaving Man bitter, even as he lay
Wracked with sickness and consumed by fear
Fear of death - that, and being unable to steer
Away from this path, this road of misery
That keeps Man enthralled, keeping him weary
Unable to lash out at the colony of vultures
Gnawing inside, maintaining constant tortures
Crushing soul and atrophying the flesh
Now at death's door, Man hangs on the fence
Between life and death, both kept in balance
Resulting in unlife, filled with immeasurable malice.
Off the gurney, this husk of a man rises
Unable to speak, its mind surmises
It is something else now, something profane
Shambling forwards, immune to pain
And age and suffering, unlike the living
An individual becomes a collective, a horde unforgiving
Of past misdeeds, looking to feast on their fellow Man
Alone everyone stood, alone the living ran
Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide
From the feast of the dead, for they will decide
Whether you are spared or whether they consume
It's always the latter choice, the dead always resume
Their morbid feast on flesh and soul
Bodies will fall, and heads will roll
Countries fall, their governments crumble
The dead now rise, all ready to rumble
Hundreds become thousands, heralding an army of millions
Devouring all in their path, consuming billions
Man grows desperate, wondering whether to become sire
A harbinger of crimson lands and nuclear fire
Sundering the land with cancerous rain
Igniting flesh, cracking skies, nothing left to gain
The hordes are emblazoned in fire and lash
Out at the world embellished in ash
The old world is gone, society left to rearrange
Life for man - does war ever change?
All meanwhile, the disease now lies sleeping
Kept under earth, stopping men from weeping
Tears of blood, both outside and within
A punishment for the evils of hedonism and sin?
Neither - this destruction was all man's doing
Buildings now crumble, fury now stewing
Within the hearts of many, as the progenitor lies
Waiting to escape, letting defeat subside
The fallen will slumber, sleeping in peace
Until Judgement Day comes, hostilities shall never cease.
Source of image: http://warhammer40k.wikia.com/wiki/Zombie_Plague
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