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Dismount the Horse Is Dead
Dismount, the horse is dead I say.
He keeps blathering on,
Saying things to bring me down
Tries to lasso me with negativity
Annoyed that I have retained my idealism
Angry at my optimism
Wanting to smear my joy on the floor of the barn.
I smell the hay and the manure
Still I will not relent
Dismount, the horse is dead, I say.
The sky does not fall.
Chicken Little’s voice is silenced.
The blathering keeps coming.
Perpetual ugliness; trying to pull me down.
The rope misses my head by days.
I gallop into the corral, determined to retain myself.
He chases after me, attempting to wipe off my smiles.
Wanting tears to come out of my eyes.
I laugh until I cry, infuriating him.
Dismount, I yell. The horse is dead!
Copyright ©
Caren Krutsinger
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