The Four Brothers of Equus

Written by: Frances Angela Torrelavega

Gallops in the shadows,
feared by mortals:
bearing on their collars
the stewards of blitz.
Like thunder from beneath,
their presence, sensed:
beware, I daresay
before facing the eve.

The White Brother comes
with the archer, crowned:
the arrows have dogma,
unfortunately, malign.
Claiming the head
although contrived,
this rider leads
by construing minds.

Still fresh, the stains
on the Red One’s skin;
as his rider murders
random martyrs.
A lake of blood
has now consumed-
the soil that's stabbed
by slaughter and war.

The rider with scales
is on the shoulders of Black:
ignoring the famished
and preferring the heeled.  
Discarding the purpose
of balance and just, 
vultures feast
on empty stomachs.

The last to arrive
is the Sickly Kin:
senile and pallor,
barely could he tread.
His rider: a frame
of calcium, decayed;
they’re followed by the lord
of lightless abyss.

Brothers of Equus:
on their shoulders, rest:
the four beasts revealed
from the final testament.
The prophecy may have failed
to disclose when will be;
we can still, nonetheless, 
give light to each morning.

Apocalypse are feared
by those, unprepared;
the others however,
anticipate its advent.