I walked across the field and saw a horse.
I stopped to watch, he didn't seem to mind.
The breath taking beauty, strong yet kind,
Stood on its hind legs to demonstrate the force
In which he would feel no remorse to hurt.
I crossed the fence, no grass just mud,
With a desperate need to see him close.
The horse walked then stopped, his head arose,
To show the noose soaked in blood,
To show the noose that kept him tied.
I pitied the horse I saw that day,
I should have just watched, not crossed the fence.
This was pure torture and made no sense,
It was a horse, not a man, a horse with no choice but to stay.
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Comments about this poem (The Horse by Markulka Piecka )
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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