Gregory Smail

The Galloping

Can you hear it?
The galloping.
Pounding on the floor, beneath my feet, more and more.
Faster and faster the galloping grows,
No horse in sight yet on it goes,
Louder and louder the galloping grows,
Put it out of my mind, shut the shades, close the blind,
The galloping continues to gallop throughout.
Thudding and thudding and thudding the galloping is,
Though I have hidden from it well.
Pounding and pounding and pounding the galloping is.

Faster, louder, the galloping grows,
There are no floorboards that I can expose
To show the galloping for what it is
A cruel hoax, a troubling quiz.

What am I thinking? What do I think?
How can I pull myself back from the brink?
The galloping proves a difficult foe,
And how to defeat it, I do not know

Most agree it cannot be measured,
Their views on that are all but treasured.
This is how mad the sane can be,
How dumb the smart; how enslaved the free.

The cursed galloping will never stop,
The wicked thud, the treacherous clop.
Where do you turn, when the right are wrong?
Where do you turn, when all else is gone?

I step upon my dining chair
The rope above, hanging there
The galloping is all I hear,
And to it I say, the end is near.

Freedom is at hand.
I hear nothing but the wind
That blows through my tomb.


Copyright © 2002-2011 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2011 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.