THE FOUR HORSES
The Earth beneath is set to tremble,
Saturated with the rot
Of centuries of misled judgments,
Willful choices, wasted lots.
And kicking up clods of decay
With hooves that slice through curling fog,
The Horse of Green comes galloping,
As pale as lichen on dead logs.
He brings with him still apprehension,
Worry of what is to come,
Yet never far behind his trail
The giants of new beginning drum.
Smoke hovers above the ashes,
Blackening the desolate fields.
The eyes of emptiness look down
While echoes of deep dirges peal.
For above the shadowed land
A creature dark as witching night
Stands still as solid, shining stone,
His heavy head mourning the blight.
He paws the dirt in broken tribute
Sensing each forsaken life.
Although he may dismay at such,
The Horse of Black brings only strife.
Blades of grass caught in red current
Brace themselves for fallen men.
The fiercest battlefields of warring
Are the purge of human sin.
From amidst the clash of iron
Steps a beast with flanks of steel.
His powerful stride and glowing eyes
Reflect the fiery furnace wheel
More savage than a warrior’s cry
More burning than a searing torch,
The Horse of Red, a darkling flame,
Has fire enough to all lands scorch.
Mist hangs low on snowy mountains;
Silence settles peacefully.
A moment surfaces in which
The land rests in tranquillity.
Then echoes sound between the cliffs,
And flakes of ice rise into air.
Cold gives way to golden fields,
Rich green forest, mended cares.
Coming fast in flowing glory
Galloping engulfed in light,
He brings with him the news of triumph –
He that is the Horse of White.