Dark Horse, Mystic
In the thin space between the hours,
where midnight is done but tomorrow not yet begun,
a dark horse rides,
trampling time as everything resets.
Her ancient hooves tear yesterday to dust.
Her furious nostrils inhale every wasted second, and
whineys them out in fresh garlands of blossoming color and sound,
flowering moments that wheel around the sun,
putting every possibilty back in place,
and the first second strikes!
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Copyright © Jack Webster | Year Posted 2017
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