You are getting closer,

I   hear the crunch of  soft sand,

the skitter of stones beneath your boots.

Your scent passes through my parted lips

stinging the flare of my nostrils and the choke

in  my throat while your hands of steel butterflies

float over  proud  bones  luring me gently

to the killing fields.

Your   fingers are    the scent of tanned leather,

I lick them like fresh  flesh wounds.

Your feathered crop gently brushes  my shoulders,

no one can save me now, there is nothing to do,

because you have always known how

to break wild horses.






95 thoughts on “Breaking Horses

    1. This is a restoration Diana. Sometimes I look back at poetry I wrote in the past and find either small or major tweaks that suit me better, at times additional verse makes sense. You will find these tagged or catagorizrd as “ poetry redux” or revisited. Thank you for the lovely compliment. ♥️

      Liked by 1 person

      1. That is nice. Horses are so intelligent. My only experiences this way were in the childhood, and as it was told to me i cried heartmelting. 😉 Maybe i can get a possibility in future. Have a beautiful week.


  1. Holly, I am now humming “Wild Horses” by the Stones. Nicely done. Also, I am thinking of Kirsten Scott Thomas in “The Horse Whisperer.” Of course, my wife is thinking of Robert Redford. Keith

    Liked by 1 person

  2. There is a profound lesson of life in these lines. The killing fields and nothing left to do speak of a fate many are led to and others choose. Life is consumed by those who come for us with purposes of their own. Once again, I am left in a thousand visions with your poetry.

    Liked by 1 person

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