The stirring of hoofbeats 

which rattle the ground.

The ear piercing whinnies 

what a powerful sound.

Dust billows upwards

and clings to their sweat.

Sleek withers and neck

which are glistening wet.

Wild mustangs they are

as mighty can be.

As they sweep o'er the moors

proud to be free.
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Death

I want to meet him. Death.  The one who has taken  everything from me to keep.  We must be similar if we  love all of the same things.

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