The Black Rider Poem by Jason Pack

In a shroud of black,
He masks his attack.
His steed of grief,
Quick beyond belief.

His blade of night,
Cuts through the light.
His bow will not miss,
Sudden death its kiss.

A shield of obsidian,
Sends men to oblivion.
A whip of thorn,
And demons unborn.

An aura of doom,
Unnatural gloom.
His jet black mane,
Is far from plain.

His path is straight,
His mission is great.
He is the one,
To fell the Son.