Apocalypse

Maybe it was in a dream
that I saw them come past thundering,
heard their hoofs beating, resounding
one horse after another

white, red, black and grey
and their riders had great power to display
went out to conquer, to overwhelming declare war,
to measure off, to kill
and to annihilate

and these horses are not metaphors
but come as stark naked reality,
displaying the illness in all of humanity

where reason, passion and imagination
cannot come to the rescue,
where man takes what he wants by force,

gathering in huge numbers, to rob to maim,
to claim the land back
as if it has belonged to some long dead relative

declares war on one another, conquering,
robbing mineral wealth
and man lives without any bonds, fornicating
with whomever he wishes

and AIDS spreads and claims its toll,
man is totally out of control,
bend on destroying
and standing at the very abyss.

[Reference: Apocalypse by Charles Madge.]

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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