Cold Horsemen

Short poem, for those who have less time on their hands than I.

Do you ever feel cold?

Like the wind stole the sun from your forecast out of the heavens, right?

Sometimes the sun is like a distant friend

You reach for it and cannot see past your blind adoration

Yet it remains

It paints the seasons upon the face of the earth

That makeup could change the world beautifully

People born on this earth will not stare at the thing that gave them life

Or they will go blind

And the night will be a wildhunt to consume the spectres of human hate

Sometimes a cloud is like an inkblot

It takes the words from your poem and covers sanctuary in hell

Sometimes that rain of terror

Of the Four Horsemen

Rides on the clouded thoughts of the human race

And death is such a pestilence, a war-torn battle of conquest

That the Trumpeter is the first note after a long silence I could write a book about

But not noteworthy enough to understand

Like beat without soul, rhythm without rhyme

Death without life, love without vice

Author's Note

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.