The High Horse

I am a terrible person.
When I get up in the morning I mount my horse.
This horse is quite a hellish beast,
tall and fathomless,
it's ravenous wild eyes
and boney body,
shaking with the excitement of
another hunt...
As soon as I sit on it's saddle, we are off.
My stead plows on, plows through villages, towns, and people.
We don't don't care;
about the devastation that lays in our wake,
the lives we've destroyed,
the people we've left in their sorrow,
we just don't care.
Seeing these scenes,
It only seems to fuel us more.
Everyday, we do the same thing again.
Everyday, the more oblivious we become
to the hole we are digging for ourselves.
Soon, all the anger and hatred with burn out of us.
We will Starve,
till there is nothing left.
But until then, no one has ever stood up to us.
No one!
No human being could DREAM of reprimanding us....
We would simply laugh in there faces!
After all, who could take down such a monsterous high-horse?