I am an old war horse
I was born for battle
stolen from a tribe who knew me as cincala
when I was young
I learned to feel my rider’s thoughts
Flanking the enemy, sensing the drawstring
Holding my breath with all four hoofs in the air
as the drawstring was released
I learned to stiffen my ears
Listening with my rider’s ears
Both watching the horizon
For the signal to attack
I learned to celebrate the victory
Sharing the security of my people
Reflecting on my purpose
And knowing it was fulfilled
On the day I was stolen
My rider and his kin were gone
Scattered on the ground
Their time had passed
I was a war horse in my prime
I was born for battle
Fighting for a tribe who did not know me
when I was young
I did not need to learn
As each new rider could attest
Holding my breath with all four hoofs in the air
As the thunder was released
Soon the time had come for younger horses
And for younger riders with new battles
I reflected on my purpose
And believed it was fulfilled
Old habits die hard
From the safety of my stall
I see the enemy on the horizon
Amassing for the battle to come
The young riders and young horses
Wait for the signal to attack
While the old generals putter and dawdle over their tea
Thinking their time has also passed
But old habits die hard
I kick down my stall
I will join the enemy on the horizon
And celebrate the battle to come
copyright 2014 Cecil X. Nixxon - all rights reserved
