The Mad Gallop
Horses ever running wild against the windmills in my mind.
I bid them “be at peace” ;
no peace shall my head strong foals find.
Headed towards a cliff, their manes fly high inside the wind.
The rider won’t pull on the reins, too wounded and thin skinned.
So laugh riding in the mad gallop to some long foretold conclusions.
Each rider’s thoughts bombarded with final dreams and sad delusions,
‘til the cliff’s edge appears too swiftly in the periphery of their vision.
Too late to stop, dismount their steed or change their own decision.
Dig your two heels deep into the sides of a horse that can’t be tamed,
then point your finger back at yourself, the one you’ve always blamed.
Salute those left; all who dismounted before it was too late.
Gather your courage to face the cliff; hope for a final gate,
to enter and start another race, mayhaps your horse will win,
in the mad gallop towards eternity and ever thicker skin.
Knowledge and love, the only real things that endure long after you.
Find what you love, learn all you can, on your mad gallop through.
