Ghosts of the West

All the Pretty Horses –

it don’t matter none.

Just dust clouds on the wind –

the cowboys and their guns.

All the West was won,

the graves and ash to grind –

the child looks, but it don’t matter none.

All the Pretty Horses

have run their fated courses.

* My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well–they’re a skilled bunch of poets, with a supportive and thriving community.

Passing

I thought I saw

someone I knew,

she smiled at me and I returned

to fevered touches, fettered glances

of a kingdom once serene,

but then I realized

the face behind those eyes

and the walls, once glittering

unraveled with the mortar

of memory, profound–

these smiles were never ours to hold,

never ours to know,

and two shadows, ill-defined

passed again into obscurity,

no words to mar

the bittersweet serenity of silence.

* My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well– they’re a skilled bunch of poets, looking to form a community and support one another.  Enjoy!