Horse of fire,
Horse of light,
Do you remember?
To feel the wind
Blow through your mane.
To care not about
What’s around the bend.
To dance along
The rolling moors.
To play and run,
A young heart soars.
But, alas, it’s gone,
In but a flash.
The two worlds,
Man and beast, clash.
Torn away.
Left alone.
Darkness.
Screams.
Horse of fire,
Horse of light,
You are no longer
Cause of man’s blight.
My sister is dark.
I am light.
The people who hate her
aren’t always white.
Even the people
of our color
would rather shun her
then another.
“How are we different?”
I always cry.
“We are of the same parents
by and by.”
“It does not matter
to those out there,”
they always tell me
as I blare.
It’s like hating night
‘cause it’s not the same
as our much needed daylight.
I would like to know,
just for once,
how it feels
to wear the dunce.
Please, Lord,
hear my plea.
Color me dark
so I can be at peace.
i know... depressing...
so here's a poem i made this summer...
Born on the Moors, to a caring mare, the rain on my face, the wind in my hair.
Joy in my eyes, a tiny bright foal, with love in my heart, that one day would fall.
Growing and learning, upon the wild hills. Racing the wind, a young colt thrills.
But one day a big lorry, with humans inside, drags off my friend to where dark tales abide.
My mother is frightened, my father is brave. My friend, who was free, will now be a slave.
And then a great army, of twenty strong men, captures my herd, of my father and ten.
We are shoved in a truck, which roars along. We’re scared for our lives, which won’t last long.
We wait in the dark, so thirsty and hot, but there is no relief and water’s forgot.
And at last we emerge, into daylight again, where we're jabbed at with forks from the hands of the men.
And herded thru barriers, narrow and tall, but I still have my mother, and so I don't fall.
But I smell a strange thing, a repulsive stench, and it frightens me so, that I twist and I wrench.
The whickers are loud, but my mother stays quiet, though I think that she knows the reasons for riot.
So I calm just a little, and trust in her age, but then I see a dark stallion, exploding in rage.
His hooves clash on fencing, as the forks smite him down, and he coughs up red fluid and quickly he drowns.
The men drag him off, with a rope round his head, and I squeal with dread, at seeing him dead.
And my mother shows fear now, for herself and her son, but the bars are too tall. They've already won.
And we're inside the building, where the smell is so strong, that even this young foal knows what's going on.
And I don't try to struggle, as I wade through the blood; my mum says she loves me, and I knew that she would.
For that was the moment, before we must part, as the man with the knife, jabs it into her heart.
And stabs her again, and once more in the head, and she squeals and she dies, and falls like the rest.
To the moving conveyor, which beckons my soul, then the knife falls upon me. And so... I must go.
