It's about horses if you couldn't tell.
Shades now cast by the shimmering moon,
upon woven waves of silver grasses,
brilliant teals and vibrant blues.
As we made our way through the hollowed passes.
Our own pelts in silent hues.
Our solid feet free from heavy shoes.
Shadows hide us from her gaze,
As we slip between this escarpment.
Our mind and souls, having been set ablaze,
these leather girths, tattered, time has rent.
And this ice chilled dew, it clings to our slender legs.
Yet being one with the night, our spirits soon forgave,
The piercing touch it gave us.
We beget these thundering sounds,
beating, tapping, drumming. The solid ground.
The moon is quite pleased of this rhythm we've found.
Graceful prancing in the blue light.
On sloping shoulders, it grants it's blessing.
The Moon, it slips, softly from our sight…
The storm is brewing,
the rivers rise.
And all this time,
we keep our mirroring eyes.
Upon the empty,
and darkened skies.
Among the clouds,
we catch glimpses of the past.
Hear our ancestors' hooves, strike flint to steel. We see the sparks they send flying.
We dance in fright,
at these stunning sights,
our minds refused to believe.
that we too,
begin our flight,
on this storming eve.
This is a link to the image that sparked the poem.
HINT: If you look between the two horses on the left you can see another horse in the clouds. It has what appears to be a fly-mask over it's eyes or something. You can easily see it's ears.
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