The digit prophecy

There is a certainty to my words. Not in the belief that I am right but a knowledge. A knowledge so profound as to almost seem spiritual. I make no claims for I feel the truth will be heard, if only from behind. This is not a warning however, these words are destined to be neglected. Events are set in motion long before they are realized.

    Like stones rolling down a mountain some begin small, some have a long way to roll. Some ride in the shadow of others larger, often easily missed. Others break up and multiply, while even more slow and cease to exist. There are a multitude of events that are slowly converging, and the meeting of said events will be resounding and complete.

    The established and affluent harbingers of world events will sing sweet illusions while the earth rumbles it's discordant contention. Even as the landslide slips from stability those rulers, not of countries but of social and economical inequities, shall try and hold reign on their feet and the feet of their feet. Thus those unsovereign yet whispered owners of all dominions shall wade against the avalanche, shielded in blood.

    The blood of nations will strive to remember a time of truth, and falter. They will strive harder in themselves to believe in thinly veiled fallacy, claimed unbiased reality; their eyes dazzled by beautifully scripted theater. Reality will become single minded, closed to interpretation, strictly denied elucidation. Their questions will go unanswered for they will realize their leaders do not want to answer them, and their leaders are benevolent at heart. This heart which stirs and pumps the blood moves feet in wayward directions. Soon the arms will reach around the world and grasp the last throat. Vicious is the battle but they will persevere only to realize, in fading blackness, the irony.

    This last prophecy shall ride with the four horseman. Each mount will, with divergent celerity, deliver their apocalypse.

    The first will be borne of blood, cold and calculated. The scarred will deliver a hundred fold their agony on that which is untouchable.  Walls built of words will crumble in the face of these truths: the human will knows no limit and the human spirit is a flame that can never be quenched.  In the forge of necessity these flames fury may overcome even the most steadfast bastion of human opression.  Would-be divinities will find at long last their feet are not planted on the backs of the broken but rather in the midst of a raging funeral pyre.

    The second rider shall ride the rays of the sun and his name will be Malice, his steed named Rancor. The light this rider brings shall open all but the most steadfast of eyes. Many will pray for blindness, the truth once bared, too painful. Not for their eyes but for their souls.

    The third shall ride the cries of the many. Seeds of chaos will be sewn and they will take root and shake the foundations of the throne. The beginning of the end will be near but this rider is key. The vines that shatter the foundations of the world will soon wither, and from their shadow will blossom hope.

    The fourth shall walk his torpid steed. Neither benevolent nor vindictive he shall take his measure.  His gaze will fall on all of man and they will search.  They'll search zealously in all directions until one and all discover that the only direction left to look is inward.  Each will discover this fateful rider there, inside, gazing back at them.

  Think not on judgement or remorse, for the answer will be written in his eyes.  Only then will we strive to redeem our souls, not for ourselves but our posterity.  The sacrifice itself branding those progeny with blood-bought insight.  This insight will not be something newly learned, but remembered, for we had known all along.  Known and conveniently omitted from conscience.  The cycle is thus rejuvinated: our memory fades and with it forbearance.  Until we find ourselves searching the confines of our souls yet again and swearing we'll never forget.