Poetry | History | Religion

Four Riders

Poetry — About the end times

Four horses unlike any animal you know Will come as the last sign of prophecy Carrying four horsemen, to bring the final blow Against a crumbling empire, the end of humanity

A white steed, pure and supreme Carries its master, the white rider above He is the antichrist, an impostor undreamed A bow in his hand, on his head a false crown.

He will ride to conquer, nothing shall stand in his way For he is the prophet of doom and decay

A red steed, fierce and inflamed On its back sits the manifestation of war He will shed blood, carrying a sword in his hand Until only ashes remain, all armies will fall

He will ride to destroy, extinguishing man’s breath For he is the prophet of destruction and death

A black steed, its eyes dark as the night On it sits famine, holding a scale He will bring starvation, countless shall die All will slowly turn weak and pale

He will ride to taint harvests with his bad fate All shall hunger, no food shall remain

Lastly, a pale steed, only bones of it left Carrying Thanatos, death itself taking form He is followed by Hades, the world of the dead Reaping their souls, till there’s no one left to mourn

He will ride to take with him the souls of the fallen For the final judgment is their calling

In the end of times, our debts will be due And these four shall ride to collect and pursue

Kevin is an editor and writer for the ILLUMINATION publication. Follow him on Twitter and LinkedIn.