Listen my lad and you will hear,
while riding the valleys and hills;
the sound of guns, the shriek of fear.
His guns drawn and knowing no peer,
the bullets speak and the lead kills.
Listen my lad and you will hear.
His face is masked, his voice is sheer;
It’s not for money, but for thrills,
the sound of guns, the shriek of fear.
He rides alone, holds nothing dear;
He speaks of death and breaks your wills.
Listen my lad, and you will hear.
The ghosts of his past linger near.
You must hear them, never sit still;
the sound of guns, the shriek of fear.
And what if the stranger is near?
Prepare yourself, the end is ill.
Listen my lad and you will hear,
the sound of guns, the shriek of fear.
Author notes
The life of the cowboy was oft filled with fear.
A contest entry
- Cowboy's In 1880 by ennovy.
700 points, ended February 23, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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I like cowboys. And guns. And cowboys and this poem. Kind of an interesting idea for a contest. Good luck Brazos. Nicely done.
Desiree
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Just beautifully done very western........thank you for entering...novy
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Yep, all was not peaceful back then. All you needed was a cowboy coming
in from a two month cattle drive, some liquor and a gun and the odds were
pretty good that someone just might die that night. And it didn't matter
how fast you were for there could always be an ambush around the next
corner...
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a picturesque but risky existance those cowpokes had.
I enjoyed your villanelle
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