There Is No Dawn

There is no dawn today
for we have done our work,
all is black today
and we sit here and smirk.

If I may introduce us
to my right is War,
a very loud young lad
enamored much by gore.

He lures in his victims
with patriotic word and song,
smiling and with quick step
they gladly march along.

For their love of country,
for family and friends,
like lemmings off a cliff
they march toward their ends.

And those who sent them
into this ring of fire,
just what is their goal
in this muck and mire?

That goal cannot be found
among the shattered limbs,
false hopes of power betray
and so the sunlight dims.

To my left is Pestilence,
a quiet sort of chap,
ever stealthy in the dark
he seeks man’s strength to sap.

Like a wraith among the crowds
with a sudden tag, you’re it,
he anoints another acolyte
with the cloak of death he knit.

Men will be oblivious
and pass his cold touch on,
one to another and again
until they all are gone.

Understated, this thing Disease
but quite the match for War,
for every man killed by the sword
this feather of death will take more.

And me, oh yes, I must myself divulge,
in case you want to know,
I am the devil’s gardener
I make evil grow.

Satan gives me orders.
his lust for blood to sate,
I don’t do the work, I plant the seeds,
and you may call me Hate.

Hate for your neighbor
with the different colored skin,
or who speaks a language
different than your kin.

Hate for those above you,
hate for those below,
hate for all around you,
hate for all I sow.

War and Disease hold power
more than we understand,
but I infect all of you,
and mine is the upper hand.