They sat
on horseback,
the four.
"I don't think we are needed anymore"
Screamed War
as the rockets tore,
"They seem to have this under control."
In hungry voice Famine
drooled over her words
"I know, I feel my job has been outsourced,
These humans are more vicious than us."
Taking over the conversation
Conquest looms in through echoed breath.
"There is always one of us four
these people will need, is there not..."
he glared.
Death stared back,
with daggers for eyes,
"Are you besmirching I?"
"No, your Lordship" Conquest lied
"Well, I feel besmirched"
Death eyed the distance
A solitary tear rolling from his eye socket.
At the war torn men and women bleeding,
fell to another rocket
Knowing he will be needed
Very soon.
"Well one of us must
be to blame for sure" screeched War
"Our jobs are on the line, except yours,
Mr Death, yours seems fine" Famine spoke
then wanted to eat her words.
Death looked up at the circling birds,
vultures, he was sure.
War spoke like a rocket.
"I've had enough of this shit",
"I think you need to drop it",
Death spoke menacingly,
I'd say under his breath,
But he doesn't breathe,
for once you enter death
you do not leave.
Greedy to explore,
Famine ripped into them some more.
"So, who started this fight,
it wasn't me"
"Well it wasn't I", "Nor me"
said War and Conquest peacefully.
"Well, I don't need any battles or famines,
these beings die naturally"
Death spoke his voice lively,
"Wait then can it be,
that these humans
bring upon their own destiny?"
"On this I think we must agree"
The horsemen rode off amicably,
except Death,
"Death’s work is never done"
His voice boomed loud
before the echoes died,
buried themselves
in funeral shrouds.
Thanks for reading
Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"
100+ all new poems not shared here before.
https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages
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