My Poetry
Again, This
Aois Dana
A Bag of Spring
For A Wedding
Little Brother
Ostara - Mist and Wings
Rainy Day
Some Murdering Secret
Sun and Rain
What Comes of Wings
Aois Dana Rhiannon
    I can't remember exactly when I wrote this poem, but it was inspired partly by a short story written by Greg Bear, White-Horse Child, which is a story about having an overactive imagination. Imagination is a gift from the Gods, but many people don't seem to think so; true enough, it can cause problems, b ut they're more than worth it, as far as I'm concerned.

My imagination is a horse

a white horse

a grey horse

a black horse

She gallops the plains of Heaven

tossing snow from her hoofs,

Across a sky full of sunlight and angels.

She weaves the woods of Faerie

with the mist thick around her hocks

Through a forest full of shadows and Sidhe

She stamps the depths of Hell

where the mire sucks at her knees

Past a valley full of darkness and demons

She is my horse and I can guide her,

I can ride her,

But she is a horse and she can fight me,
She can throw me.

In the plains of Heaven, the woods of Faerie, the depths of Hell,

She can leave me to find my way home.

White horse child,
Grey horse child,
Black horse child.

To ride her takes courage,

To catch her takes words

Neither is easy -- especially if she's thrown you.

But I am the teller of tales,
speaker to the wind,
Listener to the sky,

And I will ride where my horse may take me.

© Anne Cross, 1997

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Created: November 20, 1997
Last updated: March 19, 1998