He is the unbroken one, the outspoken one,
the oaken one with famine in his eyes;
and how he hates all of the lies, and the shit
A gravity behind the disguise, pulls him towards the sun
where he’ll be undone,
under the gun he cannot run, but falls, falls into a restless wind,
where all thoughts rescind and memories… thinned.
He’s a wanderer, a ponderer, and a lonely launderer of dirty deeds
and darker needs, and yet… all passions sought and bought are eventually sold.
He tells himself he’s not too old, denies it ‘til he’s distraught.
But it’s all been for naught, for it’s he whose been caught.
For the night is fraught for the querulous cowboy,
who can’t seem to enjoy, or employ all the wilder things,
imaginings often brings,
even when his lonely heart sings.
© Odyne La Fée 2018