Where Do Wild Horses Go?

I sat upon the hilltop and watched the land below, S

Soon, I had to ponder, where do, wild horses go?

Their hoof-beats simply echo across a barren land,

Sight and sound are long gone, lost quickly in the sand.

Their bodies only pass through, the place we call the plains,

The beauty only fleeting; in the wind, just like their manes.

I wish that I could touch them, and talk with them, one time,

To ask them very simply what goes on, within their minds.

Do they have a secret place where a man can never go?

Do they gather at rippling lakes, and drink the wine so slow?

Do they laugh at daily pains, and talk amongst themselves?

Of river crossings, oh so wild, and others not so swell.

Do they often wonder, where their next meal’s coming from?

Or do they simply eat what’s there and boldly carry on?

Do they love, and do they hate, where do their dreams lie?

Is it in the hands, of God, or heaven in the sky?

Are their minds so trapped with guilt that they are never free?

Or are their minds so free from doubt, hurdles, they don’t see.

When they meet a human, whose hands are rough and cold,

Do they ever wonder, to whom, they will be sold?

When they finally face a man, so weak and full of doubt,

Do they give so freely just to show, man can get out?

Out of all the prison chains that bind him as a man,

And let him see the wondrous things within a horse’s land.

Because I’ll never speak to one, so free upon the plains.

I’ll just sit still, upon my hill, and hope they come again.

For in their carefree passing, they’ve shown me so much,

To let life be, and just believe, my life they’ve surely touched.