the four horsemen

Galloping through the glen, only fools rush in; heeding no warning – they come.

Seven seals, covenants; doctrines of fate opened.




Scorched earth, battle ax brawls, plague of mankind & the rider, the pale horse shrieks nigh.

Seraphim banshees unabashedly blanketing the unmarked ones for saving.

They guard against tyranny, the mortal coils – clinging tighter to what little controls remain. Their presences persist, resist, and reclaim.

Upon their wings is writ ‘Sanctus Sanctus Sanctus’, upon their lips ‘nihil est extra omnia’

Their world ~

Far removed from our own microcosm of immaculate expression.

Below, one white crow sounds off – alerting to the dawning of a new day; we rise again, & again, & again.

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