Horsemen of The Apocalypse

Bred in our hands,
How our children have grown,
Through these sins we've caressed,
And the love we demand,
Mold them slowly to stone,
Dreaming daymares of death,
Growing old and alone,
Living only to rest...

In the darkness they're blessed,
These children of ours,
Fighting for life,
Drawing souls by the hour,
Turning distant and sour,
Reaping hope at the edge of an abysmal knife.

The apocalypse four, horsemen of blood,
Our own children, scattered and pulled through the mud.
Plunged into war, sickness, tears,
As they watched all their hopes of a life disappear,
Striving for dreams to go on.
But, they don't.

And they can't
And they won't,
Because we choose to treat them this way.

The night's overcoming the day,
As all these lost souls await death's command,
When a world full of evil will fall to the hands,
Of the sins that we sow, four horsemen loved poorly,
Bringing their morals to a shortening story...

The Horsemen of Plague, sickly and weak,
Hires a king of pestilent deception,
Drawing the seal on our food's constant leak,
While voters are blind in an empty election.

Famine, her eyes full of pity and tears,
As she watches hard workers losing their careers
To a land full of slaves under the law's many eyes,
Man's greed, at the worst of it's awful disguise.

War horse, so vengeful, that he cannot feel,
The pain of his victims, crushed under his heel.
The sorrows bestowed inside his young soul,
Have turned the man numb to the fears that we know.

Death, the worst of the lot,
Deals with the opposite of care,
Manipulating others, wiring robots,
Because his parents weren't there.
The collar on his neck tries to hold back his pain,
Using science to slow his attacks,
But the machines in his mind turned this horseman insane,
And slowly, his soul has turned black.

end.

                                -Dorick