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- Author
- 04/16/2026
- 500 Words
- 134 Views
- 14 Comments
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Cowboys - 1. Chapter 1
A Cowboy’s Choices
He rose with the sun on a dust‑colored morn, Boots worn thin, hat weather‑torn. The trail ahead was wide as the sky, But every mile asked who and why.
He could ride for the wages, ride for the land, Ride for the memory of his father’s hand. Or turn his horse toward a softer life, One without storms, hunger, or strife.
But a cowboy’s heart ain’t built for ease— It leans toward wind and open seas Of prairie grass and drifting herds, Where silence speaks louder than any words.
So he chose the trail, though the nights ran cold, Chose the stories that never get told. Chose the grit, the dust, the long hard ride— For a man’s true compass lives inside.
And when the dusk burned red and low, He’d pause, watching the last light glow. Knowing each choice—hard, honest, true— Made him the man the West once knew.
The Choice That Rode Him Down
He stood at the fork in the canyon, Where the wind spoke sharp and thin. Two trails ran out before him, And only one led home again.
The left was safe and easy, A river road, soft and wide. The right climbed hard through shadow, Where outlaws liked to hide.
But pride’s a stubborn partner, And a cowboy’s heart runs wild. He chose the darker pathway Like a fire‑struck, reckless child.
He said, “A man dies only once,” And tugged his brim down low, Then nudged his horse toward danger Where the cold night dared him go.
The moon was thin as a rifle sight, The rocks like teeth of bone. He heard the whisper of trouble Long before he rode alone.
For the canyon held its secrets, And the canyon kept them tight— A single shot, a single cry, Then silence ate the night.
They found him come the sunrise, Still saddled, slumped, and still. A man whose final choice had led Up that unforgiving hill.
And folks still speak his name soft, When the campfire’s burning low— How a cowboy’s fate can turn on Just one trail he chose to go.
Campfire Ballad of San Antonio
I rode into San Antonio With the sundown burning low. My horse was slow, my heart ran quick— To the one I longed to know.
He played the old piano In the saloon at half‑past three, And I dreamed of his smile, his waiting lips, Calling soft and warm to me.
But the doors swung wide and the room went still When my searching eyes did land On my cowboy held close and easy By another young man’s hand.
A Mexican lad beside him, With a laugh low, sweet, and light, And my lover’s arm around him Like it always fit just right.
I felt the hurt rise in me, Sharp as a spur’s cold bite— But a cowboy’s got to choose his path, And choose it clean and right.
So I made my choice in silence, No anger, gun, or cry— Just tipped my hat to the shadows With a quiet, steady sigh.
I chose the trail before me, Not the love that turned away. Some hearts ain’t meant for keeping, No matter how you pray.
And I rode out slow and lonesome, With the dust for company, Left my tears in the road behind me Outside San Antonio’s breeze.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.