The Horseman

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The noose doth tighten, and in the distant darkness the smile of death rests upon the icy cold shoulders of a black steed.. He waiteth, not impatiently, but with cruel and uncaring malice, for the final stitch; the last and ending gasp that signals the great challenge of being is over, the test of mortality at last complete.. He judgeth not, for such is not given him, but were he not soulless he would list to serve the darkness, and had he hope, it would be to drag all away to the darkness and stagnation of hell..

The dying looks upon the beast, nearly tasting the bitter and vile stench of waiting doom, and uncaring.. He thinketh not of hope, or future, or glory, or pain… only of rest, be that an end to the misery, emptiness, and burden his life has become. He closes his eyes in quiet submission to the black void and surrenders… but death is stayed at the door by greater forces.

What power doth wrought upon my very soul, unafraid of this monster darkness, and chaseth away the confusion, quells the careless heart, and quickens the forgotten spirit, that it riseth above the flesh? Even so, is not this the very God that gaveth by His word the recognition of self? Am I not, but by His grace, mercy, and love? How cometh I to such despair, and anquish of soul, but by turning away from His loving council? Why then looketh He upon me still with such tender mercies? How forgiveth Him even such as I?

Life anew on borrowed time, and none to spend reflecting on the wasted moments of an unchangeable past.. How bright the sun upon the same landscape which barren, now blossoms.. Once dark, now lit by understanding, and open eyes.. Once silent, now joyously testifying of life’s eternal promise.

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The Horseman

by Richard Crossley time to read: 1 min
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