Warrior

the thundering hooves

sound like mighty cannons,

as ponies of war cry out,

closer they come,

louder they scream,

striking down the enemy

like lightning,

laying waste to

whatever moves,

destroying

all that lives;

with cold sullen eyes

the warrior stares down

at the broken bodies

that once were men,

he takes no pleasure

in death,

only in the sweetness

of survival,

in the warmth

of another breath;

from the early morning mist

he rises,

his eyes have seen the coming

of a new day,

his heart has known the joy

of another battle,

proudly he stretches forth

his scarred and bloody hands,

giving thanks

to the creator

for all things

good and bad.

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