His name alone suggests his majesty
And by appearance none could be more true.
A lovelier creature none has ever seen.
And when he's run it is as if he flew.
And nothing for his pleasure, priced too high.
His caretakers provide the very best.
He wins the race without even a try.
They fill his belly and set him to rest.
The years roll by, one by one.
The winning streaks are all in the past.
And though they were his joy, his races are done.
The once unbeatable Adonimus is last.
His head hung low, as he walked off the track.
His empty stomach rumbled through the stall.
A man came through, and snatched his tack,
And the next day came, in hopes of food and love,
As he always had received before.
But little food and water were thereof
And not a friendly foot upon the floor.
The everlasting day, they came and went.
His once reflective coat is dull and faded.
Looking for a bit of food, that long ago was spent.
His beauteous body is emaciated.
And then a most determined morning comes.
An unknown man comes to lead him out.
His heart beats like a thousand joyful drums.
And in happiness his now-alive eyes shout.
The man with unkind manner pulls him along.
He puts him in a trailer with the others there.
Packed together the weakest, and the strong.
The fighting that breaks out by conditions is far from fair.
For hours he stands with a now broken rib on this trip.
Wondering where those people are who loved him before.
Beside him a smaller companion with a crushed hip.
And below him a dead baby on the floor.
But finally they are there and out they're driven.
Into paddocks where their sentence they await
For days, again, without food or water given.
Until one day Adonimus is lead into the gate.
He watches as the large and the stronger one before
Is killed in coldest blood, the butcher grins.
He's no more fight within him, he falls to the floor.
The room around him almost seems to spin.
"The stun gun isn't working right today."
"Who cares, we have a job to do."
And then Adonimus is make to pay
A price for something that he didn't do.
The pain is great, but then he's dead.
His suffering is still upon his face.
He still beholds his pretty head
But lost his spirit and his grace.
If you expected this a happy tale,
I'll remind you of reality, my friend.
This equine holocaust on a smaller scale
For Adonimus and others means end.
Return to Poetry
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