Second in a series of poems about the Riders of the Apocalyse. For those
of you unfamiliar with the story, it is said that at the end of world the
four riders (War, Famine, Disease, and Death) will arise and cover all.

Forgotten Gods

Beyond the void of Time and Space
Four silent figures stand.
Four blades burn darkness free of stars
Clutched tight within a hand.
Four pairs of eyes shine through the night
Impatient; yet they bide.
Until the Eldest roars with rage
And it is time to ride.

Blood and fire, smoke and tears
By Steel and Rage, they fall.
Ashes swirl about Him bright,
Fires roar against the night
Harkening to His call.
Sighs and lies and briefs good-byes
Caught within a net
Of Blood that Burns with roiling hate
The Passion dark. The Hunger great
And all else you forget.

Desperate eyes and pleading cries
The frenzy of pure greed.
The pain that gnaws ever within
The bones, trapped by a shell of skin
Blinded to all but need.
The Barren Land, the hollow laugh
The weight of bleak despair.
The Weakness that saps you of all
The feeble step. The final fall
When Hunger roams the air.

Foam and crimson, chance and grief
The bloody, final dare.
The deadly kiss, the nightmare-dream
The sobbing wail, the final scream
The vacant, filmy stare.
The tolling bells, the sullen flame
The empty, broken home.
The whispered call, the coughing cry
To silence fade. Echoing - "Why?"
To lie there all alone.

Darkness beckoning mortal sight
Damp and cold and deep.
The Burning eyes, the twilight road
The ivory hand, the fallen load
The stillness beyond sleep.
The shadow waiting by the door
To bear you past the sky
The tainted crimson, blackened bone
The keening song, the marker-stone
For all of us must die.