<p data-p-id="4dc428bd95b2aa784b64ec0fae686176">One day, a proposition is made.</p>
<p data-p-id="68aa8fabe110e1245b6dc6fe495078ca">Scary, yet fascinating.</p>
<p data-p-id="6889439682d32b4cc7443e89edece173">I cannot refuse.</p>
<p data-p-id="ca5c6ae2cb16288a4007d34c19c3db67">For the sake of pride.</p>
<p data-p-id="345b4233e1db95d33b17804e32040f45">She does this every day.</,p>
<p data-p-id="0a4c65aad3dc826140b4ea8a29e08787">My fear is for her a normal day.</p>
<p data-p-id="cef76922ec1cc680b0fc9fcdcbf20539">I climb into the saddle after her.</p>
<p data-p-id="a726318e723cfb9d6a52e9dffb8ff875">This time, at least, I am merely a passenger.</p>
<p data-p-id="ab32178b780167bb42ce89374bdb88f0">She urges the horse forward, and we're off.</p>
<p data-p-id="c275778654e14d312cd65deacf87c4e7">Slowly at first, momentum building.</p>
<p data-p-id="49a1dd66b3e3a725988aaf8119c8a6ea">Suddenly, we are surging forward.</p>
<p data-p-id="a65114bc598c6847a81ab00d784bdbea">Faster and faster, further past my comfort zone.</p>
<p data-p-id="d06c0a352cb94c1d2eee6fc846fcbec7">I would scream</p>
<p data-p-id="e680d93adc810aa296a9ee5d08014fde">But I cannot.</p>
<p data-p-id="f0a689d759a82e23f4b466a97703c285">The wind presses me into the saddle.</p>
<p data-p-id="08a3f4f5893fb4eb848e8d53c5f28103">Even shouts go unheard.</p>
<p data-p-id="afc98dfefc461580cd4280124c468450">We are gliding.</p>
<p data-p-id="c00287a8b125ef873f0e8e390da47b67">The jolt is over.</p>
<p data-p-id="6eaffa1aac03e7838d3728015fbbf9e5">The world blurs</p>
<p data-p-id="2aa57ddb24e2c2c6c9f17acbeb69cce0">I am caught up in the rush.</p>
<p data-p-id="e9cb298369b340dbc25a3d7757d0cf8b">A walk is a steady rhythm.</p>
<p data-p-id="b2c51d78a7782bbe9ed6a4cfaaab3d68">A trot is choppy, faster.</p>
<p data-p-id="5b26081f38b89ed8a006a5a577fac0f8">But this is smooth as silk.</p>
<p data-p-id="35cbb824ae9636cdcce67422c714ea0b">A violent start, a graceful end.</p>
<p data-p-id="7e880befe4d36612328c2c2795db7ad4">We slow to a stop.</p>
<p data-p-id="4aadfe80fb2bda50fc22c052dbe00218">She turns, grinning.</p>
<p data-p-id="e1a7ef058e179bdae934a269c03b7022">"What did you think?"</p>
<p data-p-id="b607614e2c852c81c6c616ae03bcf7c5">I have no answer.</p>
<p data-p-id="da5762b2ed2762ea09de5a8aa68d241b">My heart is pounding.</p>
<p data-p-id="8ae353152033c0ebd6282bfdd7f9fc29">My grin is broad. </p>
<p data-p-id="3fe4f41305eae4cb44a3649b80f75d07">It looks beautiful.</p>
<p data-p-id="4b70e59679e9388e785a330be29db3f9">It feels ethereal. </p>
<p data-p-id="e70df1451f00e32c7b41ca1b389fe81a">_________________________________________</p>
<p data-p-id="0b7cfc37f57b7e3ae2fb2454c5cab026">Here's this week's poem, a day early. It's horse-centered, like Equus Ferus Caballus, but from MY point of view. This is a poem about the first time I ever cantered. The 'she' is my instructor. That moment, years ago, inspired my current username so I thought I should do a poem about it. Thanks for reading, and remember, comments and criticism are always welcome. ~ Maria Hope</p>
YOU ARE READING
The Dump
PoetryA place for all the random stanzas that flow through my mind. My life in free verse. I try to write at least one poem a week, so they will be added as they're finished. In the meantime, PLEASE comment. Praise is nice, but constructive criticism help...
