In the age of instant access
To beauty and the uncouth
Why do I smell the scent of gloom
When I should be tasting truth?

The four horsemen you say?
Smug in your serenity
Natural, political, social, personal
Headed for calamity

Headlines bloom large
Screaming nature’s freakness
We are all the same – quite alone
Trapped in our fields of weakness

The talking heads first to go
Hands raised to their dollar sign
They’ll cover their ears and when asked
Swear all along they’ve been blind

Two horses; Social & Personal
Steeds of fate of untold potential
Bearing the dream-laden chosen
Amidst treachery and doubt torrential

Furtive fire then explosion
Gloom and personal fission
Hilltop scattered in bodies and dreams
Of private cataclysm