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 its end of life
Shadows of the Reaper
Sharpening his scythe
Shadows of the 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 3 comments
