The White Horse
It was a winter's night.
Diamond snowflakes danced upon the whiteness of the snow under the moon's white light.
I walked the snowy path, to where I do not know.
I looked behind, there was no foot prints.
I kept walking. There was no choice.
As I walked, a snowy owl graced me with its presence. It called out in prose, chilled in the winter's breath.
I followed it until it disappeared in the dark navy sky.
Snow swirled around me and rushed ahead.
I kept walking until I saw something a head of me.
A white horse was standing there.
Long white and silver mane shimmered under the moon's light.
White breath snorted from it's flared nostrils.
Dark eyes lured me closer.
It raised its head as if I dare with abruptness, the white horse turns and runs.
Snow filled with silver dust sweeps across my face with denial.
There are no tracks for me to follow.
All that is left is my desire to keep walking.
At the end of my journey the white horse awaits!
A call from the owl reminds me of past prose.
I stop and give caution to the chilled wind.
Navy blue eyes give whimsy to my action.
Soon it is I who lure the white horse.
The white horse bows and I mount with full intention.
We ride into paths, where, we do not know.
But finally as most dreams wake.
The white horse ends the journey.
I dismount with a heavy heart.
The white horse turns and runs sending snow and silver dust into my eyes.
When sight clears, I am left with prose full of promise.
I smile and remember my white horse.