-to all the racehorses brutally murdered in slaughterhouses

A Life in circles, A Life in loops.

on the 8th, The Sport of Kings, now realised an illusion of class.

The bearer of dismay, the unassuming float.

Greets the cold steel gates of Hades’s boat.

The three at the gate, inadmissible?

Whips, and blows throughout the ferry.

I miss my old life very.

The bustle of machinery and the ooze of blood aggravate our fears.

The glorious trophies of my brothers lay corroded and defeated.

Our triumphant tanks, No match for the son of Nyx.

A thousand shouts and not a shed of tears.

A volley of blows alienates my loyal footing.

cracked bones and tendons disfigure my pistons.

Hung upside down, my heart at my ears I hear the others neigh in protest.

7 years in a loop.

7 years with a partner.

7 years of love and care.

7 years rendered a betrayal and no more.

A 1000-pound machine.

Preyed on by the clap of thunder.

asks you from morn til noon.

what do you need?

A gift from Poseidon.

Riddled by Zephyrus.

asks you from morn till noon.

What do you need?

The Creators of Empires.

A revolution and a peace offering.

asks you from morn till noon

What do you need?

-to all the horses ruined through rolkur and soring.

Deranged, a word I’d use.

My legs incorporate refined condiments.

My hoof an assortment of metal

My dying gait, an enriched dance.

Tis he thinks?

The mad man brays.

The souls he slays.

Imprisoned in a cage of metals and oils

Not a kind petal, an embrace of coils.

My hind, a fortress of power

ney, a hall of scars.

Etched in blood, for eternity to come.

In hell, I exist, till day some.

An isolated fluid system

A seat worthy of the kings

A tremendous machine

A symphony of hooves

A half-filled cup

A feeler

A Doer

A wave

A Surge

Is He

And you,

Nothing but.

-To Victor       

The first one, a bother, nay an insult.

The second handed us a soar.

The rest, same.

The last,

We flew.

Higher.

Further.

We rebelled the Earth,

Hand in hand.

A bit off a minute.

An eternity too soon.

Sailing past the world down and back

A constant blur of peace, of collection.

But each isolated in its own real.

The truest of bands under his bulk

The wildest of winds riding the richest of manes

The true embodiment of power and prestige.

Together and without.

He Rises.

Awake.

-To Cadbury

My neck, an arc of strength

My hind, the very embodiment of power

His legs, an incantation of the same.

Our seat, a sync of destiny.

His reins a reassurance of peace.

Forward, Halt, Forward.

remains same.

The rest, a routine, well engaged.

Us together, nowhere but now.