White Horses Who Am I?

I cried to the white horses
As they crashed down before me
And despite all their power,
Comforted me with such gentleness.
“I don’t know who I want to be,”
I cried, not sobbed, quietly
Tears only rolling down my face.
“But I can’t help but cry,
Not because I am sad but because
I am proud.”
Their tremendous, violent
Stampede carried on
And their crashing began to feel
nearly like silence.
As silent as the years behind me.
They continued, and I continued to
Cry.


                                                   E. Falter 2/2/25