The Red Horse

The Red Horse—
a wild, relentless beast.
Control your fire,
and you find your peace.
Still your breath,
and guide her slow—
she’ll carry you
where calm winds blow.

Or let her loose,
let anger fly—
you’ll crush your kin
as you gallop by.
You’ll stomp your children,
kick your wife,
feed your fear,
and call it life.

When your child
dares walk alone,
into the Great,
Vast, desolate Unknown—
you lash,
you shame,
you twist their name,
and dim the light
from which they came.

Don’t teach them how
to hide like you, 
to blame the world
for all they do.
To scorn the truth,
deflect the blame,
and pass the torch
of hidden shame.
It must feel safe
to point instead,
than face the ghosts
inside your head.
You call out faults
in everyone—
yet never face
your own undone.

But know this well:
a beast untamed
brings the village
down in flames.
And all along,
the reins were near—
your hand could hold
what you now fear.

This is why
I broke away,
found my Red Horse—
and made her stay.
She kicked,
she bucked,
but now she’s mine—
a force of fire
I learned to ride.

I pass the village
now and then,
think of calling,
think again.
Maybe you’d smile,
say you’re proud—
but silence waits
within the crowd.
I’ve tried before—
each time, the same:
you mock the horse,
you speak her name
with no remorse,
for your scornful jest—
Your red horse rages,
unaddressed.

So I nod,
keep riding on,
past the fields
where shame has gone.
My reins are firm,
my path is clear—
the Red Horse walks
with me, not fear.

And if one day
you face your storm,
tame your horse,
and change your form—
you’ll find my gate
is open wide,
in a land where
love and peace abide.
But only those
who learn to guide
the fire within—
may come inside.