I stood in that adobe-
With a pistol in my hand...
At my feet the skeleton
That used to be a man.
In the dust, a rusty six-gun-
Among the finger bones...
Left the testimony,
That he did not die alone.
The cloth which lay in tatters-
Once had been his clothes...
A dried and cracking gun rig-
His name nobody knows.
There beneath the ribcage-
That served as prison bars...
I saw the tarnished silver,
Of a Texas Ranger star.
I thought, "You played your hand out-
This is the place you fell,
No doubt you slew an honor guard,
To escort you to Hell.
A warrior, aye, a fighting man-
Who died here all alone.
And all the monument you want,
Or need, is in these bones!"
I took my hat off briefly-
Piled some stones before the door...
And rode away and left him-
Just the way he was before.
And if there be an epitaph-
This is what I'd say...
"When I die, just let me lie...
The way the Ranger lay!"
A contest entry
- Ghost towns, Gunfighters, Train robbers... by kidwithgun.
675 points, ended February 6, 2008, 10 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Awesome!
Dude. If you don't already have a band, you need to start one. THis is bad ass! It needs some kind of dramatic spanish guitar line behind it and that old dude who narrated The Big Lebowski speaking the lines. I can see it now. So bad ass.
-
I love the old west....A western book junkie in fact. Well not all the way true. I love the written word in any shape or form. I love your poetry. I love your subject...and your writting style.
-
Excellent piece John, Will Henry, Robert Service, Louis L'Amour, Zane Grey....my favorite reading material from my youth, and now I can add you to this list of wonderful storytellers. Very well done.
Rory
-
amazing. i don't know how else to put it.
Adding your comment:
