The Conqueror Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He rode his Palomino mare
as if the cold of morning had
immobilised his blood-stained body
into a town of empty houses
and vacant stares in acrid smoke.

No words were spoken, none were needed,
he would be ruler here with fists of iron
until the last of these vile people saw
that God had left them to the unexpected mercy
of a glorious great army from the East.

They had subdued all pockets of resistance
and he was fearless in his victory parade.
Though was it courtesy that gave him cause to pause
at the memorial of their founding father king?

A solitary man upon a trusted Palomino,
the target of a single hostile arrow.
It ended the injustice of a conqueror
and then declared the mother of all wars.