War Horse

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His sides are heaving
Drenched with sweat
Yet he is still breathing
He hasn't fallen yet
When we think of wars
Fought so many years ago
Our hearts go out to soldiers
But the horses are left on their own
Surely they deserve to be
Praised and blessed as well
Surely they have earned their places
In the stories that we tell
His sides are heaving
Drenched with sweat
Yet he is still breathing
He hasn't fallen yet
Taken from his mother
And laden on the cart
The loss that he experiences
Like a rip through the heart
Sent to a different place
With new rules and regulations
Training from dawn to night
New places and new dimensions
Crowded from place to place
Herded up like sheep
Amid the noises going on
No one would hear his weep
The battle is to start soon
Frenzied practise and the showing
Yet even this busy life
Won't stop his tears from flowing
His sides are heaving
Drenched in sweat
Yet he is still breathing
He hasn't fallen yet
Anticipation for a fight
The crows call down for blood and life
Air full of emotion and tenseness
You could have cut it with a knife
Galloping like he**
Across the deserted no-man's land
Towards the readied enemies
Under the commander's forceful hand
Faster, faster, he's told to go
While his flag flies out in the wind
Dancing like he would be
If he was free to roam, not sinned
His sides are heaving
Drenched in sweat
Yet he is still breathing
He hasn't fallen yet
Seeing others fall around him
Dropping down like wilted flowers
The pain, the anguish, the suffering
Yet the fluttering flag above still towers
With a horn cry, the enemy calls
For reinforcements and for aid
The message of war is very clear:
To kill or be the slayed
But as his master kicks and yells
He slips upon a broken sword
And falls down upon the ground
While the others keep surging forwards
His sides are heaving
Drenched in sweat
Yet he is still breathing
He hasn't died yet
Breath comes up in hurried gasps
While blood falls down like a waterfall
From his hooves, eyes, neck and withers
And death slowly begins to pull
His breathing slows its irregular pattern
And his sides stop their shaking
Death calls him and he closes his eyes
There shall not be his waking
His body lies, a mangled mess
His sides are heaving
Drenched in sweat
He is no longer breathing
With death he has finally met.





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