Black Poetry : Untitled Sadness

This is usually my favorite time of year
When a quick drive puts me in the midst
of one of God’s jewels
Where rolling hills are covered by grass called “Blue”
Handmade stone fences serve not as a barrier
But rather a beautiful dimension to this picture I can touch

Lost in luscious acres of green
I am a million miles from everywhere
A setting so perfect it can only be a place where life begins
Where newborn legs at first stand wobbly
But soon they begin the magnificent gait
Known to the world as special
Known as a Thoroughbred

In three short years they will excite millions
Speed, power, endurance
The grandest of athletes
Born and bred
Trained and pampered to be a champion
Oh how they look and act the part

But in these first few months
They are but babies
Playing in a pristine playground
Close to its mother
There is no sight more wondrous
Than a mother playing with her young
Any mother

To my sadness and regret
This year the hue of the grass is different
Hardly glistening in the fresh morning dew
The weeping willows are truly weeping
The movement of streams without pace or cadence
The air heavy and lifeless
There are no babies
I will miss them

BE

 

BE

Such a melancholy piece...

 

Heartbeat ... now you know i'm gonna ask ...
how come there aint no more babies ???!!!



Destee

 

Destee

This spring nearly 500 Throughbred foals were stillborn or died within hours of birth and each day the count grows. The cause at this time is unknown. Along with my selfish reasons, this outbreak has devestated the multi-billion dollor throughbred horse industry

 

Beautifully scribed poet....

In my humble opinion, you've captured this stillborn sadness well.
Meditating on this vibe

*thorough-red*

 

Nice flow!!

Peace
GQ

 

BE

your love for the foals and their mothers flows through this poetic memorial to their sad plight, their horrible end...

thank for sharing, expressing your sorrow so beautifully

a