Elizabeth Butt: "Atop a Lonely Hill"

Atop a lonely hill I looked
East to empire’s uncertain dawn,
And westward towards its woeful end.
Mankind’s madness, by foulest winds
And blackest wings bourn swiftly on,
Blinds eyes unwary and unwaked.
Death steals softly by, unlooked for
And unseen, an outstretched sickle
Gleaning harvests of unripe souls.
Pale horses ride as church-bells toll,
While Sheol’s jaw gapes for fickle
Men self-condemned, and yearns for more.
Lost at sea, tossed by wind and waves,
Men loose lifeboat and rudder both
To be free, while Poseidon rears
His hornéd head and laughs at fears
Unanchored and amiss, his oath
Hissed loudly, “His seed none shall save.”