To The Dust

He’s head-down, hanging on to the last loyal gasps

Of his grim-boned, stretch-necked mare,

Tired from the flight,

After the last fight.

Passed the two hundred notches mark;

Rifle responsibility heavy on aching

Rein wrenched shoulders.

It’s not going to last much longer –

It can’t –

Surprised he got this outlaw-far.

The road goes ever on, that’s for legend-sure,

Just no guarantee who’ll be on it

Or which way the wind’ll blow;

Though he realises that only now,

Too damned late, but with a wry smile.

The blues, the reds,

The lines and the grey …

How had he managed to

Evade them for so long?

The horse stumbles, blood

Flecks from flared nostrils

Splash to the dust.

It’ll stop hurting

When the pain has gone.

4/3/2013

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3 thoughts on “To The Dust

  1. bondingtool says:

    sometimes i feel that way too 😦

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