Devoid of disorders

A world without the many,
Dreaded ailments, aplenty,
Toward it, there is a teem,
Will that end an empty dream?

For no reason, they strike,
Hitting the rich and poor alike,
Of deterioration, seems a surge,
As if earth is on a human purge.

Discoveries of cures proliferate,
Derivative disorders escalate,
Physicians with their hands dull,
From the dire, back they pull.





Idyllic in a utopian world,
Where the ideal life is unfurled,
One day it shall be there,
Maladies will be on the pare.