Back In History

The Silent Riders

Under the hush of the star-cloaked sky,
they ride
not as men of war,
but as echoes of the ancestors’ breath.

Feathers dance with the wind,
moonlight painting their backs in silver,
each hoofbeat a memory
etched deep in the bones of the Earth.

No song is sung,
but the land knows their names.
The stars remember
what history tried to forget.

They ride in honor,
not in anger.
For every mile forward
is a journey home.