The Pale Horse

And then appeared Death

Her pale horse sickish green

Spread to every living thing she touched

“An old friend” said the sailor

Whose life was spent lost at sea

“Oh when me was a lad

Me whole family was killed in the war

Nearly 13 a sailor after me own heart

Took me in and raised this poor old soot

Til I was old enough to find work

On a ship of me own

50 years on that blimey sailboat

And not much to show except a broken back

And a closeness for death

The stench of her be everywhere at sea

An old fisherman tale claims

The smell of brine in the morning

Is the smell of death herself

The thing about brine that it seeps

Into your pores

Until you might as well

Be a damned fish yourself”

Death took hold of the reigns

Of her pale horse

And ushered that the sailor come closer

To the sickly green

The man stepped forward

His eyes gleaming

As if he were boarding his ship one last time

As the pale took hold of him

And his lifeless body

Was taken into the clutches of Death herself