We ride.
My horse is white, my bow stands
Ready for the fight. Already it demands
Its blood, contending with the enemy
With its arrows, defending all my army,
Turning living to dead. My crown has been placed
Precocious on my head, its gold is faced
With sumptuous stones. We ride to the west
Victorious, to the thrones we have won.
My name is Conquest:
I ride towards the setting sun.

We ride.
My horse is red, its colour matches
The blood shed by my servants. In patches
And puddles and pools it lies damp upon the ground.
Around the fighting, furious fools, the metal sound
In my ears of clashing, crashing steel and singing bows.
My sword does steal the world's lifeblood, grows
Impatient at the lack of slaughter. It does abhor
And turn back your harmony with hostility.
My name is War:
My blade destroys tranquility.

We ride.
My horse is black, my servants burn
And mutilate, quarrel, hack their way, they turn
Your body ‘gainst your soul, leave it sick
And torn, to heave in agony. They pick
From your arms a brother, pluck the only son
From the breast of his mother, kill and stun,
Paralyse and maim. There is no defense:
I revel in the blame, destroying in ecstasy.
My name is Pestilence:
I execute with plague and leprosy.

We ride.
My horse is cream, Hell sits at my side.
The bravest scream, as in my stride
I overtake each one, cutting them down in fear
Wherever they run, waiting impatiently to hear
The sound of their cries, watching in pleasure
As life in their eyes dims, decays. My leisure
Spent in famine and drought, I take the breath
From your carcass, rip out your spirit at will.
My name is Death:
I shall continue until the earth lies still.

We ride.
Do not fear the final holocaust:
That battle is already lost.

                                          1976