RIDE A CRIPPLED HORSE HOME

A spirited lad rides a keen stallion,

impatient and restless they test each bend.

Nostrils flared wide and hooves touching lightly,

driven by hope, they ride the west wind

as well as the north, east and on southward

into the unknown, challenged and lean.

Baring their teeth, its newness and courage

pushing them onward, these two best of friends.

Comes the mare season, fruitful and heavy,

pregnant with hope, they ride high and brave.

They learn old fences and open new ranges,

then sadly find freedom’s not free.

Tied to a saddle of preset convictions,

fighting the bit, they uncover the truth.

What was born of excitement and great expectations

is lassoed and tied to a fixed servitude.

In the fall of his life, the man mounts his gelding

to wander worn trails of what might have been.

Weary and slowed by the whip of delusion,

his head bowed and broken by rules and decree.

Gone is the stallion of glory and wonder,

gone is the lad and the spirit that blazed.

Now between traces, they ride on in dullness

and follow old trails. They are two souls displaced.

The nag swats flies, his cloudy eyes sightless,

his mane and straggly tail full of burrs.

His lazy ears flop, lips loose and hanging,

broken, he’s no longer part of the herd.

The old man dreams of loftier places,

still seeks the place where spring hides the snow.

He sees eagles soar over unopened spaces,

then mounts up and rides his crippled horse home.

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