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Leonard a. Wronke Leonard a. Wronke
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For Charlie

another blast from my past.

Lightning flashes. Thunder booms.

Four horsemen ride out of the gloom.

The general upon his horse of white accused

us all with his bow of might.

The warrior sat upon a stallion blood-red.

His sword poised to commence our hellish dread.

The judge astride his steed of black.

His scale tipped to condemn us to want and lack.

The hooded one upon a beast of pale green.

His sickle always bloodied- never clean.

These our conquerors and our bane.

Do not invoke them. Speak not their name.

When you see them run in fear.

This will mean that the end is near.

Time for praying has come and gone.

Redemption for us was frowned upon.

"Horned one" danced and pranced about.

"I have won you," his gleeful shout.

"Wake up. Now."

There is still time.

"Listen to God."

Prevent this rhyme.

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