It was a pale horse,
The palest of white
And his name who sat upon him was Death.
And I could swear I shook the hand of the Devil,
Selling away my soul, intertwined with fear.
Then looking back on myself, small and infantile,
Recalling the simplicity,
And the tiniest of desires.
How could such beauty turn awry?
A magnificent diamond turned to an ebony soul.
Then I see the white horse, befitting hell.
Dominance over the earth and so many
As if to kill with a sword.
Spewing famine and death over the world.
Hades followed with him.
And like a fool,
Or perhaps in spite of my wellbeing
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color
I shook his hand,
Sealed the deal with beauty and with grace,
And I rode away
Never to look back
I rode the white horse that day.