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The Pale Horse, a poem by Alex Schnur

The Pale Horse
by Alex Schnur

Death comes not upon a pale horse,
but riding on a blood clot,
prowling through an artery.

It hides in piles of filth
and the insides of microbes,
on the wings of birds
and the dust of a coal mine.

Death waits in the wings of our vices,
swirling in the bottoms of bottles
perched upon cigarettes
packed into pills
dripping from needles
and homogenized into trash food.

It lurks in the oceans,
both the shallows and the depths.
It waits on the mountains,
in both snow and stone.

Sometimes death takes to stage
and you see it coming,
as fast or as slow as it likes.

Other times death is a thief,
quick as lightning,
and before you can hear the thunder
your life is gone.

About the poet: Alex Schnur is currently working to achieve a bachelor's degree in English from Indiana University - Purdue University Columbus, with a concentration in creative writing. He only refers to himself in third-person for the purpose of crafting biographical statements.