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Open Poetry #21
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What We Called the West
| Open Poetry #21 |
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What We Called the West |
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John Yaws Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 860Texas 
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Beneath the silver moonbeams- His eyelids open wide... Clutched in his hand, the pistol He was using when he died... The blood appearing almost black That dried upon his chest... A victim of the violent place- That we all called the West. The vultures circle patiently- Above the burning sand... Knowing soon they'll feast upon- What used to be a man... He killed his horse three days ago- When it had broke a leg... Last night he somehow lost his gun- Today for death he begs. Flood, or fire, or Indians... Cholera or worse... Death comes in it's many forms... Almost like we were cursed... Victims of her siren song... Subjected to her tests... The weak ones died, the strong survived- In what we called the West. |
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| © Copyright 2002 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved | |||
Magnus
since 2001-10-10
Posts 14135South Carolina, USA |
John, I need to read you more often... You always paint a story, with perfect cadence and rhyme... This is no exception. |
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John Yaws Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 860Texas |
Thank you, Barry. Thank you very much. |
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