The Silence of Horses

Pacing around a room, book in hand.

A book about drug-induced hazes and alcoholic teens for certain.

You’ll walk into the room if these fools feared to tread

and die in the wraps of your silken purple curtains.

You’ve been in and around Hell and there still isn’t a cure

but you convince yourself that the fairytales you’ve read say worse.

There’s Sodom and Gomorrah, that’s where they end up

and the people in that town sing songs of a different verse.

Yes, we always believe in so many twisted and conned truths

and build our biographies out of a game of Chinese Whispers.

Our guns may fire blanks and on horseback we once rode

into the distant night leaving behind broken splinters.

The turbulent winds blow through your window

and from their home, the horses move to another place.

You lie awake in a field with ice frosting over your open eyes

and yet you’re still blind so take that arrogant look off your face.

When you enter the cathedral evening the town’s light beams

but nothing is ever what it seems and these people dislike you.

They tie you up and for the greater good they will

proceed to shoot their arrows of hatred straight through you.

There’s wars in the world and sickness breaking out

but what do you care, you can’t see it for yourself?

You pretend there’s nothing wrong and your anger seems

to be pushed through gritted teeth like you contain the gates of Hell.

The horses won’t speak to you for you’re lying to yourself,

it’s 3:30 AM and there’s nothing they can do to help you.

They’re running to the South and your dreams are with them

so you took the moon from the night and beat it black and blue.

You breathe heat into cold air with a smooth cloud of sighing.

They all ask you where the horses are and your smile starts crying.