Seeing a flower
I reach out my hand
Touching it softly
Smiling at it
I study it
Suddenly with out warning
It wilts
The leaves falling from its stem
Slowly it fades
Turning black in my hand
A gust of wind and there is nothing more then dust
Where beauty and grace where
There is death
All rot
Such is my curse
To take that which was good and destroy it
My hands are destruction
My voice chaos
My eyes lay upon pain
This is who I am
I have become the white horseman
You shell know me
For I am death