He is the only one who mystifies me.
I am the only one he knows.
One wild mustang with fury in his gaze and freedom in his heart.
One set against the herd.
One untamed spirit unwilling to be broken.
From the field I can see him,
but I am the only one willing to preserve his beauty.
His splendor is coveted.
He bugles to the world in a language unknown.
He rises off powerful haunches to escape the grasp of unity
and dances away with an eloquent grace to his trot.
This is how he charges.
The one who dares to break him down will never capture his freedom
but always house an aggressive soul.
Buck, buck, buck, hoof beats spell out across the dirt when I’m confined.
When I am too repressed and too worn down to keep bucking,
it is then that I search for the mustang.
One who lashed out against the saddle.
One who held his ground.
One who’s only reason is to keep the fury in his gaze and the freedom in his heart.