Spirited hooves pounding the still of the velvet night,
thunder across moonbeams which light the way
Swirling manes and swishing tails accent the snorting
Flared nostrils dripping wet with fury
Staccato after staccato a melancholy symphony
orchestrated impromptu
Wild-eyed delirium spurring the stallions on,
their heaving chest muscles tightening and flexing,
beseeched by the moment's anticipation
It will come for you, the spirit of death,
Its stallion driven coach ablaze with a charge
The harbinger-a vision of mercy or a damnation of fate
You lived
You have chosen
You must go
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