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Rated: E · Poetry · Ghost · #1122668
Slow and bright, like an electric night.
The rider awoke before dawn,
put his ear on the ground,
what he heard was not a very gentle sound:
Pain screamed through the streets into his face,
preparing him - it was his last race.

Stand still!, the rider is about to pay the bill,
move, get out of his sight.
What are you blind? his ride is slow and bright
whatever it takes for an electric night
now he's watsin', turn off the light.

Morning found the town calmly unaware,
he was still coming down the road,
though no one seems to care,
Once he was born - that wasn't fair.

His time is over,
the rider leaves without a fight.
He's finally back home,
back to the other side.

The horse, how generous and kind,
remains here to create a new kind.

Wherever you travel with your mind.
© Copyright 2006 Undertower (ledzeppelin at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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