Pestilence

We write our words with eloquence

Depict ourselves with elegance

See beauty all around ourselves

We love to catch it, fill our shelves

With bits and pieces of this place

Thinking we do it with its grace

We say we own this massive rock

And of its contents we take stock

For everything belongs to us

Since we exist here, we must thus

Call all that we might see our own

And daydream that this was our throne

We think we are the precedence

When all we are is pestilence

x

This was the last of my series on the four horsemen of the apocalypse. If you want to check out the other poems, you can find them here: Death, Famine, War.

Thanks for reading, and have a great day :)