A dying horse,
Was being dragged over a marked cross,
On the ground its body lay,
Mocked and tortured up all the way,
Only few blinks with tears filled eyes,
Waiting for its beats to stop while the time flies,
There it lay next to its grave,
Hoping to be pushed in by the masters slave,
A few more minutes before the soul surrenders,
Once loved and praised by many spenders,
Now the weak await for the death to fall,
To free its soul from its body, once admired by all,
The eyes stopped blinking,
The tears stopped rolling,
The heart stopped beating,
The poor horse stopped breathing,
Pushed in its grave by the masters slave,
No one to praise or raise hands to wave,
Gone are the people who came along,
Finally resting its body in the grave alone...
©sim
Spilling imagination. Inspired by a picture of a horse.
