A Different Kind of Plague

Someday, today will be the stranger whose children's gifts are sold on black markets more than smartphones, but this is just like the chance of seeing wolves using bone-sharpened teeth for the betterment of Monrovia. This reminds me of a power outage; blown pole pig, nothing to seduce fire from the prime circuits, & the streets are dark and benighted. This is the kind of $h1# that caused me to lose sleep; when a slug crawls in the middle of town, it burns every eye that sees it, every small window suffers from the cataract, clouding, from heaven, because the earth wouldn't do this injustice; this judgment is otherworldly. I believe the latter rain will wash away the first, the dust on things that cover the loss. Think about the outcome, if there's any. But if the rain continues to dilute the curse of the sea, imagine what changes will affect the taste of the fish. The length it takes makes me wonder, we must be Egypt in the act; the plague did not Passover. Is there a Proverb for this? I've heard the Psalm of Lamentation, the squeaking of the slothful ships that carried the Exodus with the senseless cry for repatriation because we were taken to a promised land, but it was never promised to us. Still not now.