Veins of ice water
with a splash of bourbon,
his rough cut gnarly scowl
ran roughshod over
a pasty faced crowd
The silence could be heard the next county over.
Good guy,
bad guy,
or just the best man for the job,
it was his for the taking.
He didn't.
Without a word,
he rode off into the blazing desert dawn,
saving himself.
Comments
Hi there Brittle light
Really like the word picture and feel of this poem - Can't see anything to crit - it's a great poem with lots of personality and atmosphere!
Love Mand xxxx
Mand
I am flattered by your comments...I especially like the idea of 'personality' of a poem. And to have achieved it in your eyes means a lot. Let's face it, so many fall flat in that respect!
so...thank you
sincerely,