the illusion

your turban wrapped tight on your head

staying off the cold air you were newly exposed

bringing weakness to frail hands and slight bird bones

yet

you were majestic in your presence

as an Arab king in the heat of his desert land

you were queen of peaceful paths

accepting your time in its limited form

knowing that was all illusion

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pretty ponies

fastened to this reality

I clung to the surreal

hoping I could pull it close

enough to jump

from here to there

bridging the gap of madness

but never stepping in it

landing in the dreamland

of hopes and wishes

and pretty pretty ponies

I didn’t have the strength

the resolve to draw it near

so I let go and found

I was a mighty mare

all along

raising love

she loved them all

the best she knew

one day they would leave

her table emptied of rice

she would sit alone

no pepper to pass

no spat to diffuse

no laughter to echo

just her own half eaten plate

for now

she huddled them close

nourishing their bellies

as much as their souls

so they would be strong and kind

secure and gentle

confident in compassion

ready and able

to travel this grand world

she held at the tips of her fingers

her palms always open

for their return