deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Pale Horse
Prancing stallion, vaunted steed,
Receiver of Destiny’s deed.
Unbridled courage your forte,
The first thing to be stripped away.
From inception, a searing brand
Tethers you to a foreign land;
To stand before the ogling eyes
Of those who see you as a prize.
On with the saddles, on with reigns
To ride you, guide you down the lanes
They’ve chosen for you; never free
To run with your fortuity.
But run you will, and push they do;
Till the sheen of death reaches you.
And only then, through tired eyes,
Do you discern a world of lies.
There, with fervor, through the panting,
From a past not worth recanting;
No hand to stay you from this course,
You rush headlong into remorse
For what you’ve only held in dream,
As stricken eyes forfeit their gleam;
With one last boot claimed in its stead,
For who could refuse kicking the dead?
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