The Filly

The Filly

I lived
in a city
with
limestone
walls
and
a solid
iron gate

The giver was a mystery;
but the gift. . .




A finely
crafted statue
made from
ebony
wood;
a
lonely
filly;
its
gentle
detail,
so lifelike,
the main
flowed—
wild and
free

how could I not bring her in?

If I hadn’t been
so
taken
I would’ve
looked
closer;
been
wiser;
seen
that
she wasn’t
carved
with a
loving hand
but
constructed
by a
cunning
one

Under cover of night;
the city dreaming,
she unleashed
the demons
from her
hollow
chest
and
hell
came
upon
us

By morning
there was
nothing left;
but
the filly

She stood
against
a ruby red sky;
amongst
the
shattered stone
and twisted mental—
both stained
from
the
blood
of
a thousand
trampled
hearts

She
remained
untouched;
even
by the
flames
still
burning

Proud,
beautiful,
wild
and
innocent.

Copyright © Colin Frizzell 2009. All rights reserved.