A wonderer stoops up at an alarming angle


The peculiar familiar preamble of nascent desertions,


That scatter, no, fetter out of hand.


Loose is the hand that lost.


The dead one can't comprehend.

That there was a faster justice,

That times inevitable remission calls.

Bowler hat falls.


Other hand cries for secrets it will not share.

And cannot bare.


Horror closes in dragging

Eternal rock drowned, not bragging.

This stream deserves another victim, but the huckster's curse still stands.


The gunman is not ready yet.


For this is but a dream.


Riding into town, buying new pistols


And shining boots, free of charge with a vicious frown


As the dream goes on…


Tied to a man, hand in hand.

Laying a bullet straight, shooting it dead.

Challenge accepted, if not wanted

The star still shines for the fortunate one.


Riding back to town with only revolvers and boots.

And a hat upon his head.



“If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?”
Jodi Picoult