My eyes burn from the lack of sleep.
Your words circling my mind,
like a never ending merry go round.
I cling onto that horse with every last strength,
yet, you still manage to pull me off.
I lie in my bed looking at that once
happy thought wishing I could smile,
but I can't.

Somehow the words leave my head.
As the clock strikes 4:48,
I, am a blank canvas,
waiting for none existent paint.
I feel nothing,
yet still seem to drag the blade.

As a new day begins,
my life will end.
The darkness consuming what I had left.
The old day takes so much innocence,
if only we could have waited..

till 4:49.

Chew that gum,
Flick that wrist,
And be that bratty little princess,
That nobody wants to kiss,
Oh, Prince Charming?
He's hoppin' on his horse,
Riding to the sunset,
To get away from you,
So shut your face,
Chew your gum,
And be a ******* diva,
Wearing that ******* crown.

Who am I?
I am the girl who screams at the fire
"Come get me! I'm not afraid of you!"
I am the girl who bleeds to feel something
Anything
I am the girl with so many secrets bottled up inside
I am the girl who's heart has been shattered one-too-many times

I am a white horse.

Others don't see what I see
They don't know what I know
They don't feel what I feel
I am the girl that you didn't see...
That you passed in the halls everyday
I am the girl who chases her dreams
I am the girl who's not afraid
Of anything

I am a white horse

I trip, I fall...
I get knocked down
Pushed down
Beaten to the ground...
That makes me who I am today
But who is that?
Not a princess, not afraid
Not a child, I understand
Not a freak, I am my own person

I am a white horse

i.

A sacrosanct barouche
On the side, a gilded cartouche;
Ourn autograph's written in, with diamonds Jewel's.

ii.

One supernatural horse
To pulleth us on the scene;
Relaxing atmosphere, one queen, and me her king.

iii.

Casting spell's upon eachother
With her voodoo, I drip into her eye's;
I tasteth her sweat, dripping in with mine.

iv.

Candle's awaiteth at home
The night-time dimly lit;
Making amare until the day break, we cuddle into ourn grip's.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication

We chase a thing all our lives,
Hopes and dreams like butterflies,
Elusive thing we're not quite sure,
We're often close and then demure.

Sometimes we think this thing's gone by
We turn around and soft a sigh,
Send me back, we plead and cry,
Life laughs and whispers, wave goodbye.

So what to do when lost again,
A lover lies, a friend unfriends,
The gift of us by all ignored,
Our love becomes a thing we hoard.

When everything is upside down,
You feel about to quit and drown,
It helps to know we're much the same,
You're not alone, all hold this pain.

It was known just as "The Tree"
It was on the fence line of Jade Ranch
And on the wizened, hardened oak
Was a limb, known as "The Branch"

On the branch hung seven ropes
Of seven different lengths
Depending on the sentence
They chose one of seven strengths

Now a posse and a lynch mob
Are two completely different groups
You may always end up hanging
But through two different loops

Get caught with someone else's horse
By someone from on the ranch
Then you'll face Western Justice
And end up hanging from "The Branch"

Western justice it was called
And lynch mobs had a thirst
To see you hanging from "The Tree"
If you didn't meet the Marshall first

Get caught with an extra ace
You'll be called out as a cheat
You will never make "The Tree"
You'll get gunned down in your seat

But, have a horse, that's not your brand
And a lynch mob's soon around
Western Justice will prevail
With you ten feet from the ground

You'll sit upon the horse you stole
No one hears your weak defence
One slap and the verdicts in
You'll hang on the ranch side of the fence

Shoot a man in town and you
Will end up in the local jail
But, shoot him where the Law is not
And Western Justice will prevail

Seven ropes of different lengths
Take a man on to his death
Once the horse is slapped to go
No one will hear your last breath

There's a lynch mob and a posse
You don't know just how close they are
One does what they think is right
One feels the same, but has a star

"The Tree" is there in waiting
For the next rope to be strung
If you aren't caught by the Marshall
From "The Branch" you will be hung

Windblown mane flying out behind,
Ribbons of tangled threads dancing
In the early autumn zephyr.
Ebony hued hooves alternate,
Strong as steel, joined in the pounding
Music of free flight. The wild horse.

Soft, flowing mane brushed to perfection.
Ribbons entwining the smooth silk braids
Shining in the early autumn light.
Silver shod hooves alternate in rhyme,
Shimmering like gold, joined in the proud
Prancing of a lady. The show horse.

Two spirits combine.
The wild and the performer,
Both content in their
Destined lives.

People find it strange
that someone like me
who gets out of breath,
wheezing,
after two flights of stairs
considers the horse
to be her spirit animal.

Ironic though it may be,
isn't it natural
for the somatically lazy
to have a wild soul
that runs free?