A wild stallion is my heart,
That bucks and stomps in his cage,
He longs and yearns for freedom’s art,
His mouth froths and foams with rage.
His mane bristles in his ire,
Ropes tied tight around his thighs,
Cannot quench the red-hot fire,
That burns beneath his grey eyes.
He aches, the door open to see,
For green fields to run and play,
The wind through his hair flowing free,
All chains have been cast away.
To see mountains and chasms deep,
To look upon the sky,
In boldness he may even leap,
And gravity defy.
No comments:
Post a Comment