Wild Pony

 

What does it cost?

What fare does the beggar submit

to hitch a ride

out of his decrepitude?

Is there a cure

for each affliction?

Does every tunnel

truly have a light

at the end,

or are some just a hole?

 

I heard the angels sing, once.

They said they knew the way.

Pointed True North,

and sang me off

to make my mistakes.

Strong headed

and weak minded.

To easily deceived

by a lying heart.

 

Staggered in from the cold,

blind drunk,

and stinking of failure.

“Well, this is another

fine pickle you’ve gotten us into.”

Me and my inner monologue.

He’s taken up residence

on my left shoulder,

and I can’t blame him.

I don’t want to be in here myself,

half the time.

Hope the devil,

and that old, singing angel

don’t mind the company.

 

Because, I think I know

what it costs

to get out of here.

Everything.

Anything less,

and it just wouldn’t be worth it.

 

Don’t cheapen creation

by thinking it’s a half-assed endeavor.

Interact with the universe

with the respect it deserves,

because it’s a wild pony.

The fare for this ride,

is everything you’ve got.

All of it.

The good,

the bad,

the ugly.

So, hand it over

and hop on.

 

 

HG – 2020

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