Death (XIII)

 

My entrance on a pale horse

Raising the black standard with white rose

Is anathema to most

 

These bones are survivors

Of the battle between

The worlds of living and dead

 

This black armour

From the land of eternal sleep

Is unsurmountable

 

Before me

The clergy, kings and peasants

Fall beneath my hooves

 

When she flips me over

The unwary and unwise

Gasp and run away

 

But I am just an avatar

A harbinger of endings

Not of death itself

 

I am the victim of visage

The receiver of reputation

I am the fermentation of fear

 

Do not judge me harshly

Gentle diviner of fortunes

I am misunderstood