The Horse’s Eyes

The eyes are the door to the soul–
That’s what my mother once told me.
Hers were honey–brown,
warm and forgiving, nurturing and kind.
They were the eyes I would gaze into to stop tears falling from my own.

She was a horse rider, my mother,
and wanted me to learn too.
I look into the horse’s eyes,
searching for the honey-brown
that lives within my mother.

But these eyes, they are empty.
They followed me as I try to pet their owner,
resenting the hand that touches the horse’s neck.

I want to run away,
to go home and embrace myself in the eyes of my mum.
Instead I am lifted up,
And forced to sit on the back of the owner of the empty eyes.