By Herb McCutchen
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Poems 2012
Mist 'round the stone at my head
Marks the place my lonely bed
Bats have flown the bell tower
This you see the midnight hour
Comes a sighing the unwilling guests
Begin to rise from their gravelly nests
Resisting the earth loosing the holds
The moaning the groaning the wailing of the souls
Flee they may not this city of the dead
They cry in anguish dispair and dread
Out of the glooming as through a curtained door
Ride you see the horsemen four
The steeds are restless their frosted breath
Rending the mist separating life from death
Armed with a bow the King of hosts
Having dominion over the assemblage of ghosts
Riding forth to conquer His will to enforce
Astride he be the White horse
Peace on earth will be ignored
Slay your brother smite with the sword
Lest you think I toy with your head
Consider the rider on the horse of red
Snorting and blowing comes into sight
The horse of black out of the night
Upon him sat one a scale in his hand
To dispense justice in a troubled land
Can justice be found amid war and strife
Perhaps it may be only in another life
Pondering the mysteries the world holds in store
Another horse steps through the misty door
The One who rides this red-eyed steed
Heeds not the wails as we sorely plead
A robe of black a sickle in His hand
Before His wrath none may stand
For His mercy we grovel at His feet
Release the souls from hell retreat
All in vain no recourse
For death you see rides the pale horse
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