The Four Horsemen

The first came on a white horse. 

A pure white horse, so it was welcomed.

With open arms and minds. 

It was embraced.

It was the illusion of progress, it was wanting more, more, more.

"Better for my children, better for the future."

More, more, more.

It was improving, always improving.

It was eternal expansion, it was taller walls, it was stronger foundations.

It was more wealth, more success, more power.

More, more, more.

It was needy, it was wistful, it was discontent. 

It was broken families, discarded relationships, because "I just need to focus on myself right now."

It was another high-rise on the skyline, while a village across the world was leveled to build it. 

It was emptiness trying to be filled with more, more, more. 

It was CONQUEST.

 

The second came on a horse red as blood.

Red so entrancing, so ruby bright. 

No one could look away.

It was terrifying, it rode on. No one stepped out to turn it aside.

It was observed like a train wreck; tragic.

But no one could look away.

It was everyone bleeding but no one healing.

From sticks and stones, to swords, to guns, to spirit fighting spirit.

Hatred, brother versus brother.

It was the whole world cracking.

But no one could look away. 

It was "inevitable" "awful" and "heartbreaking"

but there was no other solution.

It was one man killing another for a square of land,

or river

or because another man

told

him

to.

It was hiding in trenches and burying a comrade in the desert,

while people watched from afar, from inside their homes.

It was gladiators in a coliseum, slaughtering each other for the entertainment of the rich.

It was gore and bloodshed.

But no one could look away.

It was WAR.

 

The third came on a horse black as night.

Black, like a vulture that preys on the weak.

Black, like shadows that frighten children.

It bore down, and all limped away, but none could outrun it.

It was emptiness in hollow eyes, gnawing in an empty stomach.

Couldn't outrun it.

It was silent churches, lonely tables, blank pages. 

It was turning to smoke and empty pages in desperate attempts at feeling.

Couldn't outrun it.

It was children laughing, laughing, at the little girl without a lunch

while they gorged themselves.

It was half the world aching in emptiness, while the other half drowns in waste.

It was pain, it was hollow, it was indifference.

Couldn't outrun it.

It was FAMINE.

 

The fourth came on a horse pale as mist.

Mist, coming down from the mountains.

Mist, visible only under the streetlights.

It was silent.

It was deadly.

It was the world poisoning itself, slowly, from the inside out.

It was lazily languishing in pain.

It was pointlessness, every day.

It was silence.

It was echoes of "There's no point. It's all random. We just happened."

It was the clocks still ticking, again and again, day after day, to deaf ears.

It was silence.  

It was one human walking by another's suffering without batting an eyelash.

It was surrender, it was nothingness, it was desolation.

It was DEATH. 

 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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