The White Horse

The dragon blows his fiery breath, his scales red and hot, and he flies through the blackened sky. He’s got seven heads to bring rule to seven devastated lands; mercy to those who dare keep their heads high. The Earth is pitiful—don’t you think so, my friend? It trembles under the beat of his wings, terrorized and ashamed with nothing to give for a church who cries under a bloody moon: “Holy, holy, hallelujah.” It’s like ecstasy when prophets fall for their own deceit, deluded by their prideful sins. They say every knee should bow; respect the dragon’s teeth or suffer his horns through heartstrings. But we will not fall, and we will not go down, if we stand as one and we stand strong, the children of God. So stand tall with me. Ain’t she beautiful—the white horse in the sky? Behind her, the trumpets sing. She’s so brave though, the way she charges through the flames, the Light of the World upon her back. Ain’t it amazing grace? The dragon falls today.