A bit graphic because it takes place during Black Death( Bubonic Plague) it's from the plague doctor's p.o.v
Ineffable Not a drop of water, not a drop of water to cleanse the fifthly faces that fill the streets. Not a drop of water to satisfy parched throats. The air is thick filled with ashes falling like snow and heavy with the sent of the plague and death. No one can cure them, desperate hands grab my oil cloth robe and stare me through my mask. Moving with bird like grace in the dirt roads of fear as I pass by the dying and dead. Heavy air on my shoulders, struggling to breathe as I see people I’ve attempted to save choking on there blood, swollen eyes looking into my soul asking me to heal them or kill them.
People dying by the thousands, London has become a mass grave. No gets in and no one gets out. Not like anyone can go anywhere, the fourth horseman is surrounding us and no one gets out alive. Desperate people praying in the streets begging God to have mercy, upon this dreary town. Begging for forgiveness like that will make things go away. Its been almost a hundred years and not a ray of sunshine. Darkness settles in all around giving death a playground. No ,one can hardly breathe suffocating on the toxic air, no amount of posy will make the toxic air more breathable.
Crying on my shoulder tugging at my arm its three days before Christmas and a woman lost her husband and a child lost his dad before he could put up a tree. Poverty running rampant cold snow settling in. shivering peasants in the street gathering by bon fires, and throwing in dead bodies to keep the flame alive. Not a single crumb to feed the hungry, shivering children. its Christmas day and the darkness is looming on this town. Things haven’t seemed so bleak in so long. Its like we are traveling through a desert without a drop of life a drop of water.
I try my best to hold on to all that’s in the palm of my hand, holding on to the little drops of life I can find, the little rays of the light I can see. I know I am a fool because everyday drops of life slip out of my hand, I close my eyes and more and more slip by. More lives I couldn’t save. More desperate pleas unfulfilled. They call me a healer, but I can’t even help them hold on to their life.
I can’t find a drop of water a drop of life. I stand in my room staring at my self in the mirror. Wishing for a drop of water to cleanse my hands from the blood, the blood of those I couldn’t save. Wishing to cleanse my self my coat, my mask. Everything covered in the dead. Haunting me, the drops of life lost in the desert. I stare at my wooden wall. Standing there praying desperately for the plague to have had his fill, for the desert to be alive once again. Things start to blur over, drops of water. I’ve found my drops of water, dripping and dripping, they can’t seem to stop flowing from my face. Enough drops of water to fill the deserts of the world.
Ineffable
Not a drop of water, not a drop of water to cleanse the fifthly faces that fill the streets. Not a drop of water to satisfy parched throats. The air is thick filled with ashes falling like snow and heavy with the sent of the plague and death. No one can cure them, desperate hands grab my oil cloth robe and stare me through my mask. Moving with bird like grace in the dirt roads of fear as I pass by the dying and dead. Heavy air on my shoulders, struggling to breathe as I see people I’ve attempted to save choking on there blood, swollen eyes looking into my soul asking me to heal them or kill them.
People dying by the thousands, London has become a mass grave. No gets in and no one gets out. Not like anyone can go anywhere, the fourth horseman is surrounding us and no one gets out alive. Desperate people praying in the streets begging God to have mercy, upon this dreary town. Begging for forgiveness like that will make things go away. Its been almost a hundred years and not a ray of sunshine. Darkness settles in all around giving death a playground. No ,one can hardly breathe suffocating on the toxic air, no amount of posy will make the toxic air more breathable.
Crying on my shoulder tugging at my arm its three days before Christmas and a woman lost her husband and a child lost his dad before he could put up a tree. Poverty running rampant cold snow settling in. shivering peasants in the street gathering by bon fires, and throwing in dead bodies to keep the flame alive. Not a single crumb to feed the hungry, shivering children. its Christmas day and the darkness is looming on this town. Things haven’t seemed so bleak in so long. Its like we are traveling through a desert without a drop of life a drop of water.
I try my best to hold on to all that’s in the palm of my hand, holding on to the little drops of life I can find, the little rays of the light I can see. I know I am a fool because everyday drops of life slip out of my hand, I close my eyes and more and more slip by. More lives I couldn’t save. More desperate pleas unfulfilled. They call me a healer, but I can’t even help them hold on to their life.
I can’t find a drop of water a drop of life. I stand in my room staring at my self in the mirror. Wishing for a drop of water to cleanse my hands from the blood, the blood of those I couldn’t save. Wishing to cleanse my self my coat, my mask. Everything covered in the dead. Haunting me, the drops of life lost in the desert. I stare at my wooden wall. Standing there praying desperately for the plague to have had his fill, for the desert to be alive once again. Things start to blur over, drops of water. I’ve found my drops of water, dripping and dripping, they can’t seem to stop flowing from my face. Enough drops of water to fill the deserts of the world.