The Pale Horse Poem by J. R. Ryan

I see a pale and sickly horse.
I never speak of her teeth.
I tell a fairytale no more.

I'm telling on her ears,
That never hear the cries;
The cries of her prey resound.
The cries of her prey resound.

I'm telling on the way
She maintains her mane in vain,
Strokes her violin 10,000 times.

She looks rather fair,
Pounding hoof-beats roar,
Thunders out a crisp Autumn morn'.

A dark man on her back.
He traded in His cowboy hat.
Contrasts against a pale, sickly horse.

They're burning up the trees.
Sweeping waves- sweep the seas.
The dark man wields a sterling sword.

As their army's bulging forward,
Babies bite their own cords.
As the younger men strum their guitars.

Angels singing 'Falling Stars.'
They can not hear the cries...
The cries of their prey resound.
The cries of their prey resound.

I see a pale and sickly horse.
I never speak of her teeth.
I tell a fairytale no more.