The horse most decorated in purple
Always the one I chose.
Turning axle rock me
Around and around and around and around.
Lean in close
The smell of tarnished brass.
I feel the rhythmic heart of gold
Drive me
With organ pipes of exuberance.
Five years old
And my father had to lift
His princess to her throne.

Giggling up and down
The scenery never changes.
Faces blur but remain stationary.
I'm the changer.
Spectators lost in the sauce
Wave without a care
And disappear around the circle.
To ignore is to insult
Though I'm old enough.
I ride alone
And they become the hypocrites.

Reigned horses grimace
Chafing at the bit of age.
Smiles fail to counter
Towering fears.
Illogical and uncontrollable
Spinning out and away
I see but cannot reach
The mechanical origins.
Helplessly dangle.
Too high to get down
Try anyways.
But delve just too far
And tumble to the earth.