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.