Lost
Finally,
Journey's end.
My darkest day.
I want to cry out but
my throat is dry
Terror buckles my legs,
as we are herded out.
Fear shouts
we are doomed cargo.
I am in my prime
a lady's hack.
I was not prepared
for this day,
so black.
I struggle against
the hooves
of terrified beasts.
The young still struggle,
Full of fire.
Whilst the weak
Gently expire
Weary!
I find comfort now in
the closeness of the others.
Belly next to belly,
heart next to heart.
Heads bowed.
LOST!
Death beckons.
Pushed forward
to face my fate.
I look into unfeeling eyes
And wait.
I dedicate this poem to the poor horses that have to endure terrible suffering on long haul journeys to foreign slaughter houses. They have not committed any crime and are often put down inhumanely. Such beautiful creatures and what an ugly way to die.
Copyright © Linda Jackson | Year Posted 2013
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