Open Poetry #29 |
A Victim of the West |
Gunslinger Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 901TX, USA |
I swung down from my saddle, Wrapped the reins around a limb... Before I reached the body, I just knew that it was Jim. Sprawled face down in a meadow, Just above Fort Phantom Hill. The arrow through his kidneys, Showed me just how he'd been killed. The marking were Kwahadi- Probably Nocona's band... Or maybe Quanah Parker's- They'd been raiding through this land. He wasn't mutilated... I'd seen a lot of awful sights, By the respect that they had shown him, I knew he'd made a valiant fight. Of course they took his weapons- I would have done the same, So I dug a shallow grave, And on a rock I scratched his name. I guess I could have carried him, On south to Abilene... To be buried among strangers, Among folks he'd never seen. But I think that he would rather, Rest out where he loved it best. Just another faceless victim, Of the wild and violent West. |
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© Copyright 2003 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved | |||
JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Nice writing...James |
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dingusjr Member
since 2003-09-24
Posts 415Missouri |
I can smell the sage......taste that campfire coffee. Thanks, Larry |
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Jason Lyle Senior Member
since 2003-02-07
Posts 1438With my darkling |
Good story telling, I enjoyed this. Jason |
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