@theplaguedoctors
About
THE PLAGUE DOCTORS Beneath a moon that stains the sky, We walk where fallen angels lie. Blackened coats and masks of bone, We wander streets the dead now own. No face beneath the beak is seen, No voice reveals what once had been. Through choking fog and midnight rain, We count the lost, we name the pain. The bells ring out across the town, As another shadow settles down. We carry herbs, we carry dread, Walking softly among the dead. We are not demons. We are not saints. We are the shadows history paints. When fear becomes the law of men, When hope grows thin and dies again, When every prayer has turned to dust— The Plague Doctors rise because they must. We do not bring the final breath. We merely walk beside the death. And when the last bell fades away, When darkness swallows up the day, One question echoes through the night: Who was the plague— and who survived?