The Bridle

Your patience with me has been phenomenal.
Wordlessly enduring the fears and questions.
Supporting, defending, consoling and comforting.
Bridling passions to allow passions to flow.

My grandfather's old pasture horse didn't do much.
He had seen his best years, and mostly just chomped slowly,
Tail swishing languidly to swat a persistent fly.
The irony of the bridle was his.
In restraining- he was set free-
To romp and play and run and feel-
To Be.
But with the bridle off,
He quietly resumed his slow chomping.
Not daring to live.