The Cowboy
His mind felt as crowded
as the bar he occupied
Tracing the oak finish
With a single finger
Cigar smoke stung his eyes
Why was he obligated to go there?
Who would have known that
within him a silent battle raged?
To the strangers who surrounded him
he appeared calm, in control.
Sipping his whisky and contemplating
Why he always seemed to struggle alone
He felt like a lone gunman
Facing himself in a pistol duel
Where was his trusty steed?
Plagued by the notion
That he could be surrounded by people,
Yet he still felt so alone
At that, he picked up his Stetson
And rode off into the sky ablaze
