Blazing Mustang

                                                                                       T                                                                                          he mustang mustered                                                                                                            prickly prairie dry,                                                                                                               in high rebellion                                                                                    m          ‘gainst the twilight nigh, before the                                                                                      oon disposed coyote howl;       O,      mighty                                                                           c                                          mustang with your formless                                                                            owl!  Since foalish days (beneath such cloudless skies that                                                                          vultures hovered with their raptured eyes), the mustang learned                 the                                                                                 nature of the plains, it’s grace unlocked in evolutions’s pains,          where                                                                                                          windswept whirlwinds whirled their fairy dust        below the                                                                                                         mountaintops beyond, in crust, while most,         of many. dared                                                                                                        not venture far.  But,        not the foal,              in frisky, frolicked                                                                                                        jar, as jittered flexions                                     masked his youthful                                                                                                      glee and terror of survival                               tested free the instincts                                                                                                      deep within that foal would                           need in much of life…the                                                                                                    bread requiring earthly, plastered              knead.   One minor scar upon                                                                                                  this stallion’s neck, testimony  to harsh     cougars’s wreck    that punched                                                                                                  a bleeder near jugular’s vein before the colt could gallop,              after feign,                                                                                              beneath the pine coned branch’s mantled  pine  along  the                  prairie’s                                                                                                bordered, sanctioned line.  Survive, he strived, amidst the dust          and brown,                                                                                           with passion’s heart  adorned as blazing crown atop this stallion’s      soul–eternal                                                                                      rest, beneath the midday sun, but dreamer’s  quest, and mustangs                                                                              dream not dreams within the nest. But, nightmares, too, are dreamer’s                                                                            dreams denied – such tranquil peace this mustang knew, belying myth                                                                                                  that beastly lives determine, not, serenity’s sweet sorrow, deftly wrought.                                                             Across the plains, this  mighty steed was prince, his courtly presence truly                                                      honored, since, he reigned supreme within the prairie’s cove, his sinewed shoulders,                           he so boldly hove.  Majestic eyes, ablaze with fire’s light, above flared nostrils thirsting for a                     fight, with honed hooves sculptured by the anvil’s stones – the mustang crushed, on crucible,                    all bones.  Withholding judgement, cruel, the mustang stepped around the rattler coiled so              not inept  and thought, not once, about that vermin, cold, until such time, again, that reptile              old.  Such sculptured beauty, Master artists, vain, attempted mimic onto canvas pane             but  nothing born can capture mustang’s hue, save brushes handset in eternal             pew.  No filly, pure, deserted by his side, his harem chosen by his             sense’ guide, the yearning, strong, from nature’s calling                      hum for vigor’s vital strain, survivor’s sum, expunged in vibrant climax -            rapture’s peak ; no sadness shed for lesser of the weak.          Without an auditory note, the steed dismounted mare and,        so,  returned to feed upon the grasses, green from showers      sprung from   springtime schooner’s sails aloft and hung to      dry below        the solar sentry’s guard.  Ah, splendor, thou     is wonder               to the  bard!  In driven passions poised   postpartum, I              behold the wonders to behold and cry  tears wilted by                a timeless, tangled thought, through mimed motives                                        on tiptoed tightrope, taught.  Beyond                                          the missive, dire, beyond myself;                                          within the living   being known as                                        self, lies light,                                                                  compassion’s                                                                    bright and                                                                    brilliant                                                                   ray, the                                                                   tiny tot                                                                   that He,                                                                   above,                                                                    does say.