Wild Sky Run
The horizon bursts open in flame
as the herd breaks across the light
each hoof striking the dawn
like a drum that wakes the soul.
Freedom is not a whisper
it is thunder made of muscle
it is dust and dream and motion
chasing its own reflection.
They do not need reason
their beauty is enough
their gallop becomes prayer
their shadows become memory.
Someone once asked the wind
why the horses run so wild
it laughed and said softly
because they can, and because
the world feels slow without them.
And when the sun folds down
they will still be running
somewhere beyond the clouds
wild as hearts that never stop.
About the Creator
George’s Girl 2026
I've been writing poetry since the age of 10. With pen in hand, I wander the realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture you ❤️#Marie381UkWrites
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Comments (1)
Thank you so much 🦋🦋🦋🦋