Rider

In the southern glare,
I barely make out
The empty saddle.
My rusty horse
Is spattered.
My youth's remembered
By nobody.
Often, clever twists of words
Left brutal twists of rope.

I rode for the adventure,
Rode for blazing romance,
Rode for reasons
To this day
I do not understand.
I made reckless decisions.
Now random
Decisions make me.

This land,
This pavement, sand, and water,
Don't feel
Home.
I live a stranger,
But will not die a foreigner.

- 5/7/26

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Alone at the Museum

The Parade's Gone By

Crunching Gravel