December

The ringing in my ear
causes the trickle of my tear.
Rising they pull me from my slumber,
ripping security, warmth.
We leave and ride down, down, down.
“Don’t make me!”
Let it not be.
The wildhorses meet me at the stop.
Dragging,
I’m pulled to my destination.
Beating my bruised body,
bludgeoned with baseball bats.
They wish me to go,
back where from I came.
I’m sent, nothing I can do.
Only wait my time
until I can be
where I wish to be.