111 Horses Went Wild Today. by Wombat-Pentagram, literature
Literature
111 Horses Went Wild Today.
Take my hand, walk with me, make it right
when we walk through future storms.
Each person has their own beliefs, their own experiences,
their own thoughts and emotions.
This is what drives us to keep trying.
I've lived my life with all my heart
I've laughed so hard that I cried
I may be all over the place but that's what makes me, me.
Still vaguely within sight but impossible to reach.
You may feel small and fragile now,
but soak up the sun,
for although the storm feels
like it's washing you away remember
Silence settles, calm reigns, even for
the soldiers standing, tall and proud
their shadows cast upon the ground
never
This time every year I expect your visit,
your annual love affair with me,
you arrive and it's like time has ceased
between this visit and the last.
Where you travel from I know not.
I cringe when I recognize you,
my skin crawls when I see you,
with your bronze armored skin
and your helmet-less head.
Knight in shining armor you are not.
You're always touching me.
Your advances I abhor,
yet you assault me from all sides,
with your clinging hands,
reaching, clutching, touching.
I pray for the time when you leave,
I just want to be left alone.
But for now, I fight you off,
annoyed with your interest in me,
praying for the swee
Some people look at love as a rose,
red and vibrant and alive.
Fresh-cut, bowed-up and in a vase.
But I don't.
I think of love as a rose pressed between pages.
It lives on, every time the page is turned.
Memories pressed into every petal
are replayed; some good, some bad.
Love found, love lost,
family, friends, life, death;
every petal a page from what went before,
pressed into one delicate bud.
Hold on to every petal,
for it is the path from present to past.
Love blossomed and faded
is found alive again.