Emily Davison by Rose Foran
This moving poem has been sent in by Rose Foran, along with a beautiful piece of embroidery for the DASH PROCESSIONS project. I hope you enjoy it as much as we have at DASH.read more...
I can feel. And hear them. Before I
see them. Thunderous, pounding, like a thousand
hearts, throbbing up, upwards, to me. Splitting
earth from its core. Crowds part, as if sensing
destiny. Drawn ever closer - a sacrifice to
sound. There. And there. On the horizon. Small
and delicate of bone like little children,
their satin colours, whispering, rustling upon
skin and yet more satin. Racing, racing
through the elliptical. How they seemed to
fly. So beautiful, so, so beautiful. But eyes
are renowned liars. It is time.
I make a move. Another. Then another. No
hand stays the inevitable. The moment is
mine. Now, I see them, for the first time.
In their true glory: manes flying, nostrils
Flaring, eyes wildly orbiting. And throbbing.
Throbbing, beating, pounding hooves. Sweaty
Flanks, sinews- muscled in express speed.
Towards me. The King's horse – a beauty,
moulded an equine perfection. I see you. See
Your guided grace, glide towards, me. My
colours are with me now. Are part of me.
Violet. White and green. Deeds not words.
Deeds not words. A breath expands all
that I am. Then falling, falling, like slipping
into sleep. Fetlocks, hooves, shadows, ear
to the ground – a deep, throbbing, dying
heart. Violet. White and green. And. And.
Darkness. No stars.