Welcome To The Bullpen
Authors note:
The voices referred to in this poem are coming from the wild horses and mustangs, the icons of spirit, freedom, and nobility, that defines all that is America. Their voices come from the rim rock country, deserts, prairies, and distant canyon walls of their ancestral territories. They represent the heritage of our past, and the hope for our future. To turn our backs on them as if they no longer matter; as if there is no more service they can provide to us, would not be only delusional thinking, but a terrible travesty of the worst kind. Please, get involved and support all efforts to end our governments continual capture, relocation, and total removal of the Wild Mustangs and Wild Horses, for once they are gone, also gone are the pristine protected lands which they inhabit.
Voice of the Wild Ones
by Mike Massey
There comes a voice that speaks to us of things we may not see,
Of that which threatens who we are, our freedom, and liberty.
Our icons of the lands we love, our spirit of the west,
The ones who’ve thrived without man’s help, the ones who’ve stood the test.
The ones who ask for nothing, but to just be left alone,
To continue their existence in the places they call home.
To carry on their legacy, with each late spring foal crop,
Is all they ask of those who think this cycle must now stop.
Some of their ancestors brought beef from Mexico;
Carried soldiers into battle, at Bull Run, and Shiloh.
They changed the Red Man’s culture from farmer to nomad,
Made possible his search for food from further distant lands.
They brought about the cowboy, another symbol of our west,
That icon known by others as the America they know best.
Others pulled the wagons west from places in the east,
Brought those who established ranches, then towns and communities.
These voices that I speak of come from the wild ones of the west,
From those icons of spirit, nobility and freedom, survivors of the best.
The voices sound from the rim rock, deserts, prairies, and canyon walls,
From all the lands that they call home, their ranges large and small.
They represent the heritage of our historic past,
And the hope for our own future, we pray will surely last.
To turn our backs and let them pass, to me would sadly be,
The height of man’s own arrogance; a senseless tragedy.
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