Cometh the Pale Horse

Cometh the Pale Horse

Alone upon the burnt orange sand my blistered lips complain,

"When, oh God will I taste thy cool untainted rains?"

Where once thy landscapes lush allurements draped upon the hillsides shadow

fell upon past pastimes evils 'mongst the reddish river's shallows.

Bending, taste the brackish bloodlust, unholy appetites galore,

served no purpose only masters, unknown demons from before.

Augustine's light and evening cities braced against the boiling tide.

And swords aplenty, demand allegiance, hack at waistcoat's leathern sides.

Embattled, burnt and blistered Hero from the time which has no time.

Wounded, wretched, Chalice Bleeder smeared upon the aged rhymes.

Springs flood forth with purest savings from those wounding apetures.

A victory surely promised sounding in my deafened ancient ears.

Take up again thy stained blade and dance the victory dance.

Mind not the mortal wound begotten from the darkened evil lance.

For love has healing, beyond believing, in this desert place.

Simply saying; we call praying, delivers healing, lasting grace.