What My Muse Told Me Late One Stormy Night
What My Muse Told Me Late One Stormy Night
Poetry splashed ink, seen by blinded eyes
What horrors! Words that makes one stop to think-
About this world and its circus of lies
Do not read, touch or even dare to blink.
Yet a poet dares spend precious time
Oft brooding, colluding and losing sleep
Ink rained down, yes, in that abandoned rhyme
To other's dismay, some of it is deep.
Tex was right, empty six-guns are for show
And dead-ink horses only serve to beat.
Freedom never served, never seems to grow
Dead horses stink and are not good to eat!
Apples hanging red are ready to pluck
Tho' orchard may only be ancient trees
Why toss good fruit into the mire and the muck
It is not as if locks never need keys
Hold those horses, old Tex has more to say
With his six-guns out and ready to blast
Tex yells, "varmints best that you kneel to pray"
Best do it now and make damn sure its fast!
Tex was right, empty six-guns are for show
And dead-ink horses only serve to beat.
Freedom never served, never seems to grow
Dead horses stink and are not good to eat!
Robert J. Lindley, 2-05-2018
(Horses need riders and green pastures)
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2018
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