I am the last wild horse
and my days are numbered.
Memory taunts me:
I feel the wind fanning my mane
as I gallop with my vanished herd
through mountain passes and prairie meadows.
My coltish days swim before me:
I feel the warm breath of my companions,
see the soaring eagle circle high
in the blue mountain air;
hear the whinnying sounds of pleasure
as we taste the sweet young grass.
No more--those days are gone.
There are only memories to sustain me
and memories are not enough.
Soon I too will be gone.
I am the last of my kind--
remember me.
A contest entry
- The Natural World: In Honor of AsIThink by hawkeslake.
1050 points, ended January 3, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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Beautiful. I really enjoyed reading this. Well written and memorable.I especially like the line " and memories are not enough."
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This reminded me of one of my favorite animated movies, "Spirit" (about wild horses in the early days of America). Much of what you've written here parallels scenes and ideas from that movie (with a touch of "Lion King" when "Simba's" father instructs him to "remember who he is" in a 'vision'). So, your imagery and depictions here, took me there; and to the grassy lands of a country once trailed by wild horses. Thank you for that.
AsIThink...
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Excellent personification of another loss we will suffer soon. Thank you for entering.
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Bill
admirable topic and metaphor. It is full of sigh bringing images and sentiment. Those of us who can't empathize (yet), surely see a path to the future and only hope that we can ensure we tasted the "sweet young grass" before we too are the last of our kind. Great poem with well used language and imagery
Jim
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Powerful beyond words
This brought me to tears. Over the vast span of years behind me I remember how things were at the beginning. How wide open the world was and how nature thrived. Maybe the cushion for the death that awaits is in seeing the world change beyond recognition. When we no longer fit in, it is time to ride into the sunset.
Wolfie
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looking Back
In reading your poem I can remember when yong I was consider a Stallion. Strong, lean & quick. But now no longer. Sorta like one of the last of a group of friends. Many now in their grave. I enjoyed, & learned, from this wonderful piece.
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"I sense the warm breath of my companions,
see the soaring eagle circle high
in the blue mountain air
and hear the whinnying sounds of pleasure
as we taste the sweet young grass."
Beautifully descriptive, Bill...I could see the scene as you painted it, my Friend...I once had a wild mustang pony eat an apple from my hand...she was lovely, spirited & free...much like your penning...Well done, Poet...
Wanda
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