The black horses run
There hooves like*
Earthquakes upon the ground,
Tremble before them
For those who felt there coming
No longer
Above ground,
Each imprint of there coming
For an age petrified is the ground,
Four horses
Four riders,
They are those who know no
Fear,
They are the chosen ones
As of the old,
New horseman born.
Insanity,
With but a touch
A mind
Crazed beyond control,
So many puppets on a string
So many uncontrolled
Morals,
Right,
From
Wrong,
When the mind fractured
They don't matter any more.
Pestilence
But with a touch,
Flesh blisters
Coughs
Spreads its strain,
Villages still,
The diseased like wilted Flowers,
Decomposing on the floor
A cough,
A sneeze,
Would sign your death,
Others fearful of Pestilence,
Of the fatal disease, killed by mistake.
Decay,
Puts his charm to the touch,
He was the gentlest it seemed
But this disguised,
The horror,
For with but a breath,
He released decay
Flesh ripened,
Decayed,
A hunger too renewed
For only others flesh would
Only stall the putrefaction,
Fathers let children consume them,
Neighbour,
Against
Neighbour,
Chewing, cooking there flesh,
All this spread with but a breath.
Deathly War,
Revelled in the pain
The Three Horsemen spread,
But the most powerful of all,
Spread with a word,
Rumors
Whispers,
Lies,
The thoughts crawling in,
Whispering in ears
That could end all life
But with a push of a button,
But first he wanted fields of blood
Innocent,
Corrupted,
Pure,
Stained,
The four horses would shatter the earth,
There hooves,
*Telling of the incoming ruin of Earth.