Poetry

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My tongue is a young stallion
who refuses to be tamed
by anyone.
He tosses his proud head
and stomps his feet when
he is approached with
any restraint. Even when he
is in the depths of his
stable you can see
the whites of his eyes
glistening brightly.
When he comes out his bright
red coat attracts everyone’s
attention.
I desperately want to saddle
and bridle him to control his
movements, but it
is to no avail as I
am tossed to the ground
whenever I attempt to control him.
He tells me proudly, “Perhaps you
would have better luck with
Leviathan. Put
that bridle on Behemoth!”.
I cry out to the Lord because
of him, for he has injured
many with his bite, and
caused me endless shame.
I know the Lord can gentle
and calm him. I can then
show him off as he gently carries me
into the Presence of
the Lord with the gentle
gait of praise.

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