Icabod Crane
A dark night, with the moon piercing through its pitch darkness.
Only the glares of pumping muscles covered in coarse black hair seem to move.
The heart of a man, the man riding, pushing his dark, black mare with all the
energy
that will come to it.
It’s as if he’s running from his deepest nightmare.
Never looking back, never thinking twice.
Only galloping away from his fear.
His eyes wide as crystal balls with the glare of one as tears begin to build.
The sound of his pursuer right on his heels, he looks back.
As the sweat flies from his face, he notices, he is alone, running from his own
delusions.
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