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.

You see it coming,
for you,
or perhaps you don’t.

Either way
it comes full force,
creeping,
burning everyone
and everything
in its wake
(in its way),
like Lava;
red-hot,
sulfurous,
scorching,
till it reaches your feet.

It reaches you,
sweltering,
sizzling,
hissing at your heels,
but you continue
walking down
and over
along determined
path.

Others attempt
to run,
falling at your feet,
while they smoke
and hiss,
and death wraps
its tendril-like fingers
around their
throats;
many never
get away.

Lethal, angry
winds threaten,
mocking,
calling out
your undoing,
yet
you champion
through.

You’ve always
known this path,
drudging on
sometimes with
energy and
tenacious need...
to go on
and make
good time
to wherever
you’re ultimately
going,
many times
not even knowing
yourself,

yet persistence
wins out
as you diligently
force your feet
to keep moving...
forward,
never back.

Exhausted
but resolute,
you can’t see more
than three feet
in front of you,
often times
your poor vision
playing tricks
on you...
mirages,
misinformation,
erroneous
perceptions.

You can’t see
too far ahead,
but some voice
deep inside
tells you,
coaxes you,
gently,
to keep legs moving
and eyes front
and forward,
never back,
till you
finally arrive.

Seeing for the
first time,
with new,
clear vision,
that this walk
was purposeful
and not in vain.

This arduous hike
through storms,
enduring the
violent debris,
was not without
rhyme or reason...

it was a
necessary
journey as,
on this often
harried trek,
you found
nothing more
and nothing
less than...

who you are
and what you were
always meant to be,
and now
you’ll get to shine,
wild and bright

for all to see.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

Perception, my Queen
Battles fought and lost in Ire
Tempted to lash out

Emotions aroused
Moods kindled in Fire
Umbrage is provoked

Insanity rules
Trangression is drug of choice
Penance never paid

Sanity long gone
A new face in the mirror
Mayhem’s melody


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights

That Pillow...if it could speak,
would have all too much to say.

It would drown your very ears
with stories of fears.

It would count, for you, the lost numbers
of tears that have been shed,
but never wiped away,
just dried up slowly, instead.

That Pillow...if it could speak,
what would it say?
How many dreams and secrets
would it betray?

Ahh, but that tender Pillow of mine,
it would never cross that line,

For it is always there...eager to bend...
for me,
and always to lend...
itself, as my friend, you see.

That Pillow...it serves me quite well,
and though there is always much to tell...
I know it will never sell...
me...out like that.

Discarding judgement, it takes it all in...
both virtue and sin.

Soft confidante as well as confessor,
putting up with the aggressor.

Never questioning a word or thought,
or the torment of inquiries sought.

Oh...that sweet Pillow; it knows me too well,
And a true friend indeed;
veiling inner stirrings and secret stories...
and it shall never tell.



-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights