The Horsemen.

Come! On the white mare he rides The crowned spectre is charging With the white bow in hand Devout malady imparting In shadowed smoked entrance Venom absorbing the lands Fear the approach of Pestilence Or breathe your last by his hand Come! Crimson stallion explodes onto the field The sword drips anointed by life His strength expanding from humanly fears Bones of the fleeing whetting his knife Patience exacting the dark spirit holds Scorched battle the scent of his breath War plundered souls of light and of righteous Absently collected of thought or regret Come! Through Hades gates a silhouette emerges Riding a black stud he gauges the scene Bilking the vigor from all life surrounding He assimilates all in imagined serene Being dries out with nourishing nothing Drinking up all that life’s spirit succors Bereft of conscience is the spectre of Famine Balancing out what the heavens implored Come! Rhythmic and paced the final rider appears Rusted scythe in boned grip for a reaping Most dreaded of all his finality judgments The broken seals his assurance in keeping Collecting his toll for the ferry on Styx Tainted and troubled have been smothered Uncaring the route the damned must traverse Death amasses the work of his brothers Stop! Hold close the signs of last Revelation When the days drown in prophesized eclipse Be trepid the day of stampeding earthquakes From the riders apocalypse