Metal Horses

Metal Horses


Ages ago, hooves of bestial beauty
pounded upon the soil of old.
O'er time hooves of a different kind
grind against the black rock still new.

Glistening hides, splashed with rain,
sparkling sweet and dashed with debris.
Curving bodies, sculptured lovingly by greater hands,
sturdy frames and bulky power.

Twisting.
Winding.
Turning.
Stampeding down a lone stretch of rock
or
Nose to end in a crawling trot.

Rhythmic movements, roaring souls,
crashing through the concrete forest.
Metal trees and dizzying spires
of cataclysmic steel and stone.

The one of age renders useless this land,
poisoning our mother's breath with each belching puff.
Pouring ebony milk down to feed its sensational greed,
to tear apart our dying land.

Now listen child, and you may hear,
the bleating call of nature's wild.
An untamed spirit, racing on,
their flickering ghosts reflecting in our clouded eyes.

But, alas, my child,
Oh, it pains me so!
That many can not hear,
for their hearts have long since withered,
returning to the dust of the hopeless and the </i>lost.</i>

Their hearts have withered,
souls wrought to die
all from the acidic birth of technology

So please, my child,
my loving child,
my gifted child,
who sees through lies and corruption.
Look past the endless ribbons of black,
heavily splashed with the kaleidoscope of colors.
Look past, look hard, look often, my child,
and see past our metal horses.