Satan on his way to bring about the downfall o...
Satan on his way to bring about the downfall of Adam. Gustave Doré’s illustration for Paradise Lost by John Milton. Paradise Lost Book III, lines 739-742 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This poem was written somewhere between 1997 and 1999. I was living in the top floor of a dilapidated old building that used to be the Ottawa train station master’s home.

Over the years I seem to have developed the uncanny ability to make oblique references to tragedies and disasters before they happen.

Just the other day, for instance, I posted this, quite out of season. Then a few days later in the news we hear of a cargo ship that capsized off the coast of Georgia.

If you check the dates, you will see there is no way I could have known about the cargo ship when I posted the first image. I remember thinking it a bit strange to post the first image in September – because the linked image says “Hurricane Michael aftermath, Christmas Day” – but did so anyhow.

A similar thing happened with this poem.

The poem was written mostly stream of consciousness. While typing on my ancient computer, I remember thinking just how foreboding the lines were getting (rotting sky…all are doomed to die) and not really knowing why.

Following my instinct, I didn’t delete the darker verses, but I did think about it.

After September 11, 2001, it seemed the ominous parts could be taken as a premonition for 9/11.

As the new millennium drew near, it seemed some artists and sensitives were picking up something rotten on their radar.

At least, that’s one way of looking at it. Around that time I was reading John Milton’s Paradise Lost and Dante’s Inferno. So one could say I wasn’t intuiting anything at all. Instead, one could argue I was just aping the greats. Mimicking their aged style.

So who knows.

It could be both.

Synchronicities usually involve the entire situation. Where you’re at. What you’re doing. What’s happening around you. And, perhaps, what will happen around you. I should know. I just completed my Ph.D. on synchronicity when this poem was written.

The Disease

I’ve watched it grow
I’ve seen it sow
true minds into despair

souls of sorrow
ladened deep
burning horrid stares

I’ve seen it work
at lightning speed
to destroy mankind’s seed

through the air
it does its deed
this is its only care

sans partiality
sans decency
Yes, this is “the disease”

You over there!
you believe you’re clear
of this melancholy breeze?

Well let me tell you
if you please
it’s a fatal,
dreadful siege

For once contracted
once enacted
you’ll go on normally
“it’s okay”
“I’m just fine”
“yes, I think I am still free”

But then, alas!
the grippe is tightened
beyond all points of ease
and shipwrecked sailors on the sea of life
all drown
irrevocably

Yes I’ve seen this blight
‘cross this land
and winds are blowing high
no apple pie nor starlit nights
will save this rotting sky
all is darkened
all are dead
all are doomed to die

Lance it fast while time remains
avoid a fearsome plight
destroy this curse
and rest assured
your mark is
for the
light

Cast it out and let us pray
“Lord give us back our sight”
Cast it out to guarantee,
Truth shall conquer might


The Disease © Michael Clark 1997 to present. All rights reserved.