[In the spirit of Sylvia Plath and with all the respect that I can possibly muster, I offer this... as just another horse poem] <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />The whisperer knows the secret of shame <br />Whether by cunning or whip, the final <br />Breaking’s the same <br />When a heart is held captive, there enslaved <br />The soul it belongs to cannot be saved. <br /> <br />The ruthless, perhaps seeming gentle of hand, <br />Stalk the remaining few beasts <br />Still roaming the land, <br />Lassoing their freedom and making a claim <br />Branding the creatures, declaring them tame. <br /> <br />But, there’s a difference between those <br />That were born to be free and those in <br />The barns of captivity, <br />Where souls are broken before their birth - <br />A flaw in design or product of hurt. <br /> <br />Broken is broken, once a soul has been reigned <br />But, it is by its own choice that <br />a wild heart remains <br />The wildest of creatures, will break from the hold <br />While the rest are corralled, saddled or sold. <br /> <br />Future generations will bear the final result <br />In the foaling of barned fillies or <br />Free roaming colts <br />The souls that were broken will ever be so <br />And the ones as yet wild, nobody knows.<br /><br />Christine Austin Cole<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-horses-and-other-tragically-breakable-things/
