shadows of a gunslinger

The final curtain call of a gunslinger

Shadows of a gunslinger

Staggering back and forth

Shadows of his broken compass

He knows not south from north.

 

Shadows of mirages

Of breezes and the rain

Shadows of his crimes for which

He hangs his head in shame  

 

Shadows of his weary horse

Nearing his end of life

Shadows of the Reaper

Sharpening his scythe

 

Shadows of his fleeing soul

As he drops onto the ground

Shadows of the his dying breathe

Then he makes no other sound. 

 

Shadows of his carcasses,

Shimmering in the heat

Shadows of the vultures

Scavenging bones and meat

Reviews

[Leon C]

I could almost feel the abrasive sun of my back and wind on my skin.
A wonderful evocation of the time and place and all those old films I've watched.

Well done