The dust unsettled; banners drawn.
Spaces taken; pace predicted -
Some may never make it past the start.
Hooves are stamping, aligning with the dawn.
Bridles clink as riders mount to check their tack;
Each stall is set and narrow,
Booths for bets and brawls.
Their movements swift,
Their breathing hard and hot.
He who comes last shall forever lose.
Anticipation is an open gate.
I am your rebellion:
A single step beyond the fence,
Two inches past the starting lineIs ample grounds for gunshot.
This is one of the most amazing poems I have ever read. Promise me you will always keep writing. You should be published girl. What a crime if the world didn't get to read all these.
ReplyDeleteI'm with rowemickey. At first I thought it was preparation for a battle. One of my favorite things is when authors tactfully bring you into the light of the situation without slapping you in the face with it. Beautiful. Publish-worthy.
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