Wild Horses

Wild horses still run
  racing off to the beat
of some distant drum
  the wind catching their wheat
in the swaying winter manes
 with their figures a shadow in open plains.

Hoof beats pound the earth
 pounding out the rhythm of a storm
where sky and land were birthed
 and yearlings were free when first born 
harnessed of late by the girth and bridle of man
 they slip into submission apart from the open land.

Wild horses have withered over the years
 as native lands are taken away
and the memory of freedom disappears
 every day in the games men play
long rivers and flat rocks no longer bend the knee
 to the mountains falling into the sea.



"The Wind of Heaven"
Justin Hayward
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C5RMPUJE44s&list=PLO-UbICkLW9N1nn4ZW7m0JbHHPtxmjWVW&index=5
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Poem

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Buck Avatar
December 4, 2017 at 2:30 PM
DM: I could see them running just beyond my reach. Well done. Keep them coming. oldbuck
Cresswell Avatar
December 1, 2017 at 1:17 PM
I am afraid of what is going to happen when the wildness disappears. Only our memories to tell us what once was. Your poem has reminded me of my fear and frustration.
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