The Dark Horse

The Dark Horse
Consistency and expectablity have taken flight,
leaving her behind.
She stays perched.
She looks down, the ground is not far.
All the answers slip away without notice, until its too late.

In the windless obsidian land,
the dark horse runs,
Nights gait.
Nostrils flair lost in confusion.
Her soul cries but she does not.

A distressed voice calls out,
She no longer has the strength to answer its plea.
She can do no more.
Her hands ache and she cannot hold on.
She looses grip of the branch, the last thing that kept her aloft.
She falls willingly to the ground.
And there is no more.

The Dark Horse

Amy Van Den Berg

Joined January 2009

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