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)