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Follow me if you will. Thunderous sounds- horsemen gathered four. Imagine cry’s hunger, or echo and destiny ebbed. Sky’s colored with volcanic puke- rusted and dashed with embers jade. People are there, not long lived of bountiful graces and followers, but they are there all the same- demanding remuneration, shaking their pitiful little fists skyward. With the very last gasp of life, they curse at him. Another child will die. So be it- death is but an illusion. I concede- neither an illusion nor a believer be.
‘Hush little one- for those bad, bad men are many miles from here’ The saintly woman cried.
The corpse was rotted and its putrid smell inflamed the very last of our senses. Yet tears are not to be shed for what remains of this, the last remnants of our humanity- for the child has no conception of pain. (Not then and not now) For on bended knee their faith is never in doubt, never in question. No pain is allowed. (Not then and definitely not now.)
‘Hush little one- for those iron clad horsemen have no business here’ The average (formally saintly) woman lied.
See the defiantly hoofed creatures pound into the drought infested lands- lands’ decay fed upon by locust’s cast. (They are deemed holy only by what is THEIR destiny.) Their proximity gives them away- the horsemen gathered four.
As they arrived steamy clouds of soup poured from their nostrils in a heated pant. Their neigh is merely a trumpet, forewarning of an apocalypse of such magnitude that Lucifer himself will turn away in repugnance. Oh- those horsemen gathered four.
‘Hush little one- for those men are hero’s and fight for God.’ The average, but misguided woman sighed.
From the river Nile to the mountain stream somewhere in a tranquil far off land, from the sky, to the feelings amassed by millions- the color blue ceased to exist. Cerise oceans and blood stained clouds ran rampant delivering the final blow to mankind. Yet these vile little people continue to shake their pitiful little fists skyward. ‘WE CLAIM VENGENCE!’ The village troll screamed. No grief, no sadness, no woe’s or depression- No, the color blue ceased to exist. Only the fire of Purgatory remained- (A fire that burned within us all)
‘Hush little one- For those men are lover’s they shall keep you safe in their bosom’ The average, but Hell bound woman denied.
Born unto her was a child, a gift. Yet upon this unhallowed day, she laid the child at her feet and knelt down before their statute- the horsemen gathered four. She offered her child as gift unto them, for their bounty and their absolution. Unwittingly she full filled her destiny.
‘Hush little one- for those men are God- prey unto them’ The wicked (formally average, formally saintly) woman laughed (and she did laugh)
A gift bestowed upon her by the horseman gathered four- a sterling silver gift. Clutched tightly in her fist she claimed the laurel of death- twas a duel edged blade. She wielded it with such passion, that God himself wept through his tightly closed eyes. She disrobed and offered herself unto her gods. Yet there were no acknowledgements- from the horsemen gathered four.
‘Hush little one- for these men will be leaving soon.’ The wicked woman cried…(The last tear shed, the last truth spoke)
One mighty blow from the wicked woman, with that duel edge sword ended what had begun with her. And by her hand she took her own child’s life. Blue does not exist. The child’s blood joined a million others, into the deep abyss of the cerise oceans. And she writhed in an orgy like fashion in its purity.
A trumpet sounded, and one horseman departed. The wicked woman laughed.
A trumpet sounded, a horseman departed. The wicked woman cried.
A trumpet sounded, a horseman departed. The wicked woman came.
A trumpet sounded, and with a mighty swing of a sword, the wicked woman died.
Into a horizon gapped only by fear the horseman turned to face the saintly, average, wicked woman one last time. And for the first time he spoke.
‘Hush little one- For these men, these bad, bad men, these men who are miles away, for these men who are YOUR lovers and YOUR GODS, tomorrow, will not even know your name’
Anastasia
- 23.09.2021
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