Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Hooves beat ruts into the road
To the rhythm of death’s drum…
Dark carriages with black curtains unrolled,
Gather corpses on the run.
Plagues can’t be cured by art or love,
The horse hoof’s clatter sounds a curse…
The disease what lies inside men’s hearts
Eludes all cures, all knowledge, the purse.
I am a simple passenger,
Sharing any carriage rider’s fate…
No white horses in my future,
So long as greed lives with fear and hate.
Black-caped midnight drivers,
Flog the dark with a furious rein...
Scarcely leaving a visible trace,
Of life in the forest or plain.
One often hears crows laughing,
As wagons leak fresh skirts of blood...
Disappearing in the moonless night,
With wheel ruts dissolving in the mud.
Remember that fate is a hunter,
Preying on both the rich and the poor...
The dark horses are round every corner;
Carriage hearse's bellies begging for more.