THE HORSES OF POMPEII

I hear gallops but I do not see the dust

in another dimension run those stallions

with the ancient gods they used to trust

those present in shields and medallions

What did they do when everything turned to stone?

could be resting like kings on the hay

betting on the dice the luck of their bones

or or simply supporting actors of a daily play

I hear the echo of the neighing crossing the clouds

I keep imagining the flickering silver mane

icon of animal virility that makes them so proud

and and seal of force pasted in the astral plane

after so long they remain imposing

despite the pale gray that make them so brittle

while the modern world keeps on decomposing

the horses of pompeii are those ones time can´t belittle