I have just woken to a nightmare of a dream. I dreamt of a pale horse, its eyes the color of plasma. On it road the symbol of death, within its hands held the seeds of rot. It launched on the world spreading its curse, the lands withered in its wake. I stumbled across an open plain, watching the darkness grow from within the earths soil. The sprouts were black as night, bringing vines of closure to the once open paths. The sky cracked open. In this dream I felt a thirst like the times of my own great sorrow. I lifted my head to taste the rain, its drops the taste of copper against my tongue. The rivers that were dried filled with crimson, burying a mighty crown. I sit now still tasting this sickness that redened my lips. The pale moon slowly passes my window as I write this. I must go back to sleep, for now I had to share before I forgot. Good night again till my Sunday blog.