Posted: November 6, 2011 in Poet; Writer; Author


As I died

the moon called me

silly names

and I was fascinated

with air as it crept

through my open consciousness,

licking my spirit.

Passing over a forest,

I saw my horses below.

They stopped grazing

long enough to lift

pink velvet muzzles

to the horizon and smell

sadness drifting by.

Something they knew

they would miss

but like thunder, could

never touch, only chase

with twitch of tail

and liquid eye.

As I died,

the rains held off,

mountains sparkled

in the misty distance, and a

white Owl and a wolf

joined in broken song.

But it’s the horses I’ll always remember

dancing to music no one else could hear,

reaching their hooves towards an impossible sky,

as though they wanted to close

the space between us.

© Copyright 2011 ♥Susan Joyner-Stumpf

  1. phill jombs says:

    wow! How death has been depicted is- a gray picture of mistical undertaking of chores by elements of the darkworld.

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