A dead pony occupies my dream.
Night after night, it effortlessly prances,
Darting from one end of eternal existence to other.
I try to place the expression on the beast,
Some describe it as peace, others say panic.
Maybe its hatred, maybe its fleeting joy.
Ever so often the pony will encounter two knights dueling.
One is dressed in a white garb, the other clothed in black.
The pony doesn't know why,
but it feels that the knights are fighting over its very existence.
Unable to dictate the outcome,
the pony flees.
Reaching the end of eternity,
the pony wants to jump into the expanding abyss.
It believes this will set it free.
However, the pony cannot move,
anchored to the ground,
by an orange sky.