.
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… ._.
