Broken

The great beast snorts
A mighty breath.
The oppressor sports
A determined stance.
Poetry in motion, intoxicating potion
Of hair and hooves and eyes.
The black on cerulean, a sight to be seen
As the stallion rears toward the sky.
The man approaches
The horse retreats
As danger encroaches
The battle will cease.
With fire and wind, the long whip descends
The flesh streaked with blood, a torrent, a flood
Runs down the poor beast’s flank
The fall to its knees
A smile on his lips
A horrible plea
His hands on his hips
A bridle, a saddle, the reins his command
A spirit none own dies under his hand.