Excerpt from Chapter I
The Rising
I hear the distant rumblings
From sounds of the sacrilegious winds
In the echoes of the thunderous rolls
As a seed in the womb of my soul.
The clouds they build and build,
And the storm it shrieks and shrills,
As creatures of my nightmares scream
To emerge and invade my dreams.
And beyond the gates of Hell,
Accompanying the storm and swell,
Rising from the graves of the damned,
Awash with blood of the Ram.
They rose, the Horsemen four,
Led by the crimson War.
Then came Pestilence and Famine.
The pale-white Death entailing.
Through the trails of the apocalyptic hounds
Pass the wailing banshees' bounds.
From the abyss of eternal pain
Into my world grappling in sane.
The vapors from the cursed breath
Of the condemned who never rests.
And the fumes from decaying flesh
Festering in Satanic mesh.
The stench of the putrid corpses
Over the mass eclipses,
As the foul frenetic followers
Cower in the ethereal cover.
Swept by the winds of Armageddon
They rode with arrogant abandon.
They came the Four and the millions -
The Horsemen and their minions.
© 1998 H.L. Hiew. All Rights Reserved.