Horseman's Fear

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
hard to explain...please just read and review....

Submitted: October 16, 2006

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Submitted: October 16, 2006



The hand clenching the reins is white,

Why is it white? I'm not afraid,

Am I afraid?-Coward-What am I afraid of?

Of not doing my task...I lie to myself,

To everyone.

I am afraid of getting caught, of dying. What is

It like to die? Will I end or live for eternity...who knows.

I don't want to think about it.

What is that, in the distance? One...two...O God, no!

Why on my watch, why me, why now when I am afraid,

Why couldn't it have been someone else...I can't do it...I don't want to do it.

This trial given me is too great, I could fall off the horse, break my neck;

I could meet Them and be tried and hanged for treason...Treason?

Fighting for what is right? Damn Them!

What do they know about what is right and wrong?

How could they know? Yet others do, others who have lived like me, in this

Wild devil's spawn of a place far from the motherland.

Who says

That the mother knows what is best for the child?

But I am afraid.

But I must go.

Don't make me.


The lights dominate me, whip me on "Warn them, Warn them"

Those cries, from the creatures of nightmares, will curse the last seconds of the last day.

"Warn them! Warn them!"

Two flames in

The darkest Night;

Do it, now, go, before your nerve fails you completely,

Go, do what you have been told to do,

Can't think, must think, foot goes in stirrup, leg swings across the horse's back,

Where am I

What am I doing

On the horse's back.

Kick the beast's flanks,

Animal rolls and surges, crashing forward, one of the

Foaming breakers on the rocky shores.

I feel seasick, seasick on dry land?-all life is wrong,

Upside-down, maybe that is why I feel sick?

"Warn them, warn them!" Don't follow me! Leave me


More can't be more!

No...they're the lights of a town...a town;

They're so close and yet look so far away, farther than the stars,

Than the motherland,

Breath rushes from my throat,

In a hoarse howl--where is that voice coming from? Did God call it? Or Satan?--

The cry of a wolf, a crawling, slinking

Where does the voice come from? From where

Does the demon cry spring?

Where? Where? Damn it! All I want to know is where. "The British are here! The British!"

The God where? Here? Here. Not here...can't be here. Here?

"The British! They're here!"

So it's true.

I must remember to thank that man who called out and warned me.

But who is that man I see?

Strange...who is that down

It looks like me, but how can I be me?

Surging, clattering forward on a horse,

wild-eyed, hands clenching at the mane,

Those hands are strange, unusual

White hands.

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