Sunday, May 13, 2007

Behold the Pale Horse

Searching through old word files in the My Documents folder led my to this poem. I'm positive I didn't write it. I have no idea what it's from or why I ever might have thought to save it.
The wind blows in the night
The bough moves to and fro
The rustling that begins a dream of suffering
Pain for the victim and same for the inflicter
Woe to they who behold the pale horse
Also, as a poem, it kind of sucks.

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