Poets logo

The Movement of Horses

An Experimental Poem

By Annie KapurPublished 4 years ago 2 min read
Like

With your frontiers set deep within your own imagination, you cannot fight.

Your teeth clamped together so hard, one of them cracked and broke.

Your dreams are irrational and the horses are now away, they’ve ran out of hope.

You’re haunting yourself with an anvil chained to your chest, the heart of the ghost.

You top up your energy like a dead battery - princess of broken waves.

You’re a damned fool laughing courage to yourself, the horses taking themselves to sea.

The glasses set around you are planting into the Earth; and from them, grow trees.

Make the horses come back anyhow, make the hooded phantom leave.

You awake to see the first thing you notice, a strange and new place.

You’re looking at a screen playing your life and watch the horses walk away.

Freedom rides on one of their backs, it’ll come back for the end - you’re wasting away.

You spit out your teeth, you crack your fingers and create these cast iron gates.

You can’t admit it but you’re a parasite without a prayer said for them.

Hands freezing over, you wait by the seaside, the horses with their backs to you - eyes wide

you know you have the city blues. It’s like that strange feeling that you cannot write

down. But even if you don’t make it to the end of the film - you get to say you tried.

Putting on your favourite winter coat, brave the storm as the horses curse behind your back.

They want to call to you, but you mount an elephant so you can’t hear the pain cry out.

They say, “take back your life and know thyself; loved one, we’ll return to you!” On a cloud

you see nightfall and the moon descend for your consciousness begins to spin around.

Your ceiling is filled with icons of Biblical Prophecy, hooves that clatter outside your room.

You think on the manes of the dream-world that have the nerve to care - now that you’re alone.

You look through a window and they’re still. They stare at you down the blues of a saxophone.

They break your mind, turn to move back to the sea and your emotions begin to corrode.

The spring rain beats agains the door, the horses in the ocean and only one stays.

You lift it and call yourself a parasite without a prayer; chestnut-coloured truth stems

from the mare in a flower. Blue and yellow stains splattering the skin again and again.

You’ve got it right, perhaps? Maybe you can dream once more, but you just embrace the rain.

The skeleton keys of the disposition that encompasses your smile

is a smile that spits its teeth out on to a horse that cries all the while.

social commentary
Like

About the Creator

Annie Kapur

190K+ Reads on Vocal.

English Lecturer

🎓Literature & Writing (B.A)

🎓Film & Writing (M.A)

🎓Secondary English Education (PgDipEd)

📍Birmingham, UK

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.