The Pale Rider

I stood on the isle, winds tearing the veil, When the Lamb broke seals and Time grew pale— First came the White, a conqueror proud, With bow unbent and a crown like cloud. He rides to conquer, not for peace, His arrows silent, wars never cease. A mimic of Christ, but cold in deed, He plants the lie, he sows the seed. Then Red did thunder with sword in hand, To tear all peace from every land. Blood soaked soil, brother and kin, He feeds the fire of hate within. The Black came next with crooked scale, Measuring grain, but hearts grow frail. A coin for bread, the poor must choose— To starve with pride or eat and lose. And last the Pale, like deathless bone, Hades followed, cold as stone. Plague and beast and famine near, He is the end we always fear. They ride as judgments, sent from God, To cleanse the earth with iron rod. Yet still the Lamb, so meek, so bold— Holds back the wrath, till all is told.