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.



next       back

Recent Poems (2003-4)

      Poetry      Home