A soul-stirring poem by Equestrian poet Peter Hurst, from the perspective of a horse being shipped for slaughter.
The Silent Horse.
I was raised on a farm, where I thought people cared,
for the reason, to be slaughtered, that a family shared.
I was fed and raised, for this purpose in mind,
the price, of my body, being already consigned.
The trust I had was betrayed by all,
My life being decided by a government call.
My journey began under a nighttime sky,
horses crowded together, each, wondering why.
Arriving at a destination, with no grass or trees,
a place of noise, and confusion, gives a feeling of unease.
Standing in a crate, so poorly contrived,
i longed for water that was denied.
With workers accepting my fate in store,
i am a horse, being betrayed, for that I am sure.