The writings of Hunter Coch

Poem: Forget the Numbers (Part #3, draft #1) #westernwednesday

Time is short,
in the sunlit sky,
no hope for a dream,
looking high.

A western rumble,
to that my horse flew,
Me, the hanged man,
Delighting the devils crew.

But an easy death?
Denied that gift,
slow asphyxiation,
and the wind took a shift.

Through stars of suffocation,
Shots rang and bullets sang,
in my fading sight,
falling was the gang.

And though the sound of battle
brought a simple smile,
thoughts went to my wife,
lying in a pile.

The eyes close to see her beauty,
and join her company,
one wish only,
to avenge the villainy.

The rope snapped,
I fell,
the hate awakened,
to the litany of hell.

The bullets ended,
and sounds fade,
death has been dealt,
still a debt to be paid.

To the sound of walking feet,
came a creeping sleep,
despite the desire
to crumble and weep.

Despite the dead,
around the hanging tree,
a villain escaped,
to live and be free.


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