Tucked safely away behind the walls that shield my body from the cold,
Cuddled up in my favorite chair.
I gaze outside my window.
To see a player on the stage.
Playing a role.
Lost in the script.
Like a bad actor who has forgotten his lines.
So he improvises.
Pulling from the forgotten past.
That he can’t seem to remedy himself from.
A glorious past he remembers.
Not too glamorous for some.
The days of old sting like a whip.
Leaving red lashes across my back.
Arms aching from being stretched beyond capacity.
A glorious reign of power he dreams.
Of might and violence.
Far removed from reality.
This white horse gallops across the stage
Trampling its hooves onto the backs of men and women,
Children alike who have forgotten how to stand erect.
Too long heads bowed,
Shoulders bent from carrying the weight of this white horse.
I beckon you to retreat.
Into the safety of a world.
That which I have written into existence.
That looms over the frigid air of the day.