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A poem

Submitted:Feb 6, 2010    Reads: 93    Comments: 3    Likes: 5   

The Prophet
Upon the hills in storm and wind
He stood his arms apart
His eyes were in the Otherworld
Druidic runes recite
The clouds of mist form visions clear
Of all that would travail
A prophet or a wizard dark
A question none could ask
Beneath the broken war smashed walls
While screams did echo, thunder call
Blood brains and guts lay splattered round
Bodies wed in death
Fear embraced as thick as night
The prophet spoke in mystic rhyme
Death gave up her newly wed
To dance in ruins vast
The people listened to the beat
Hell orchestrates the score
Musicians from the pits of Hades
Beat timeless tunes with bones
The future pictured clear as day
War, fire, quakes and death
The end shall fall on all as said
The prophet thus had spoke
The dead did mock and scorn the words
As Ghouls and ghosts did waltz
The rider Black did saddle up
The Red one sword in hand
Twas Pale the rider I now viewed
His eyes the gates of hell
They rode into the swirling mist
The vision now did pass


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