THE WILD STALLION
My mind's a wild stallion
It takes so long to break,
Letting out the rope
Of constraint a
Little at a time
To see if it bolts
From the path when
It feels like it has
Complete freedom,
To see if it can bear
The weight of the Master
Squarely in the saddle.
So long it was left
To roam the vast
Canyons of the heart
With no rein or bridle,
Willful and angry
At any hint
That it be ridden
And obey.
We need it docile
And even now,
When it seems to
Go where it's told
With the tiniest
Flick of a rein
In a wrist.
I can feel
Its breath quicken,
Its muscles tense
At the slightest lapse
Of conscious
Stewardship,
See its eye wander
As it schemes
To light out
For old haunts.
Wearing away
Its willfulness
Requires the eye
And the hand and
The consciousness
Every moment.
A wild stallion
Is beautiful
But not useful.
Under the Master's
thumb, it can still
Ride like the wind
And charge like fire,
But it can also keep
A steady pace
Tame as a kitten
Whichever is
His need.