Let the horses run

Choices are hard
at times
they tear me apart
like horses galloping in different directions.
Stop! I scream.
They listen to the breath of a whip in my hand.
They pause.

The first victorious battle with choice.

I struggle with them,
the words whisper into my ear to choose the roads less travelled
and as I listen to them I fear the claws of pride gently touching my shoulder.
Individuality is the course of modern age.

And yet,
perhaps,
hopefully,
though still with doubts
the choice to turn my back at the road grows more from the desire for collective sharing than an individual race.

I detest speed,
in words,
in the touch of your hands,
in crowds.
And so I choose,
not to...

Slowly,
calmly,
firmly...
(with too many adjectives all at once)
I choose to bury my feet in the soil
and smell the new words that fill me up,
with the silence one phone call away
I watch the horses pass me by
when I let go of the whip,
victorious, yet somewhere broken
I turn my face the other side...

a cat,
brown leaf,
a butterfly,
your eyes,
my pocket...

Let the horses run,
I let go