Dark Horse

Several young friends (and some old ones too) are riding the dark horse of destruction toward what they think is a finish line. It’s really an abyss of nothingness. They are held in place by the saddle of self and their spurs are hurtful words spoken by selfish tongues. The bridle is the painful bit of wrong choices. They smile because the wind feels good in their face and they don’t realize it’s a storm. Dear merciful God, please blast them from the back of the devil horse. The fall from the saddle is nothing compared to an eternity of …nothing