Wagon & Wild Horse

Tonight I tried to explain what I thought I heard you say last week, without saying love.
You are still the wild horse, driven by the wind and weather. You will always run as the lead and you will always break from the pack.
You still dance on the edge in places I cannot go and do not understand.
I have a wagon of hopes and dreams and memories of us, that you would have me empty. But you have promised me no provisions to refill it except my own resourcefulness and my own sufficiency to pull it.
There are no guarantees, no sure thing. The di have been tossed. Their spin will take good time to stop.
The words you say to others, you won't say to me to give me hope. You turn my words back on me and sharpened with time, they cut deeply.
I do remember, and I will mourn you because you are a beautiful creature that has dressed the landscape in motion and colour.
All things that are released free to the wild may come back to us. You are released and I will return to my work of tilling the soil and planting seed for future use.

29 October 2008

Note: half and half, seems to work here as well as in coffee
© Cynthia Ryder
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