Sunday, 9 March 2014


Has there ever been anyone as overlooked as the fifth horseman of the apocalypse?
Except, possibly, the inventor of the acropolis?
How forlorn and aimless the fifth horseman must have felt.
Even diversion from a fancy dress party was denied to him,
For Thor stole his thunder and the disappointment with his costume intensified his gloom.
War, Famine, Plague and Pestilence overshadowed his Doom.
The fear he inspired was pathetically minimal,
No matter how dramatic was his entrance into any room.
Perhaps the last man to have walked on the moon could have empathised with him and not a day too soon.
Such futile speculation was so typical of him, no wonder he felt out of tune.
Omitted from biblical reference, compounding his abject deference,
He agonised about his superfluity and lateness.
Filled with rage and hate for coming too late,
For history to acknowledge him; for tales generations can relate.
What havoc could he wreak?
The answer he tried, in vain, to seek.
After his infamous predecessors, all he had was weak.
At best a mere pest, his plans to make folk suffer failed miserably as, over time, people grew tougher.
His limited nuisance value eroded his ego;
Ergo his ever-diminishing self-esteem caused his implosion and,
Evaporating faster than the memory of a dream consigned him to oblivion.