.

A man enters a crowded room,

The dust in the air settles down

As over silence starts to loom

Amidst a sea of focused frown,

The pianist shivers but goes on

The notes backing each of his steps,

Not a single movement forgone,

All eyes focused on his biceps

For by his hip lies death-maker

The accursed object of his fames,

The saloon knows him as ‘Taker’

And that means not only the dames,

Salty sweat drops on dried-up wood

As eyes become as the dead tree,

As hands drift where they never should,

Resisting this dark poetry,

The sun is high yet light is low

And they cannot help but wonder:

What if this all was just for show?

It would be wise this to ponder

Before, away, one’s life to throw

And all the gained wealth to squander,

But foolish men believe they know;

Suddenly, thrice over, thunder!

Only in blood can thirst be quenched

For those who live by the wild law

Although once a man has been wrenched

From the path, red remains his jaw…

.

Yesterday’s poem which I wrote but forgot to post… ._.