The horse is pushed out

into the world by its mother.

All around it: all strange faces.

In every birth

they wobble on their long legs

to be like the others in the stable.

The horse is nudged, minutes after birth

to trot around.

The horse is pushed by

its trainer, who expects greatness

and perfection everyday.

She is tired

and needs to rest, but rest was

taken in the womb.

Beads of sweat drip down

her face, the salt stinging her eyes.

The horse is pushed by

other horses, who are competition.

In the race: they jostle for their position,

She is told to be the best

because second is not good enough.

They run on the dusty track;

with her vision foggy

and her heart pounding,

until execution meets exhaustion.

The horse is pushed by

the public, who spend

their fortunes on the race.

It is unfortunate

that she is considered either

a success or a dissapointment.

This bet is a dangerous game

that tampers with the horses worth.

The horse feels grey hair

pushing up from its small body,

pushing into its young mind.

Her hair has silver strips

that were brown only days ago.

She is learning, but so heavily yearning:

for a break

before her own,

B r e a k.