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?

I never thought
I'd get off this high horse,
For my feet to touch the earth
And feel something,
No clouds to obstruct my view,
Throwing the rose tinted glasses
To the ground
And crush them into the soil,
But new realisations can be
Hard to deal with,
So I must take my time
To piece it together

he said he just ******
off on its leg, but I think
Steve ****** Bullock's horse

Tired and tied tight
To the unyielding plough,
I scream myself hoarse
Into the silent field
Of endless toil.

Knee deep in the sludge,
Shackled and blind,
A waning force
Too stubborn to yield,
Too proud to kneel.

At the last pull I fall,
Too weak to climb up.
My health they endorse,
Their intentions concealed,
"Come back when you're healed."

The carriage arrives
To take me away.
The knacker's draught horse
Bought from the field,
Naught but bone meal.