Outbreak

We knew that in the distance we'd see
some reasons to question what we came to be--
it's deeply disturbing when someone you've slain
with a maggot filled rictus emotes their disdain;
the stench in the village was so blasted thick
that each labored breath made us sure we'd be sick,
the little main street had been recently paved
with the rotting reminders that couldn't be saved
and I shook like an ancient kalashnikov
expecting the strain to just finish us off.
But somehow we lived and joined others as well
rebuilding a world that had turned into hell
removing the corpses so we could commence
to garner some order that maybe made sense,
we held a big council to lay down some rules
intended to silence political fools
while secretly hoping a decade or two
went by before a bureaucracy grew
that spawned the detachment which tends to destroy
benevolent instincts survivors employ
so we, the last remnants of a world in distress
could make a new future that fixes the mess
where love for each other devoid of abuse
was the only contagion we'd choose to produce.