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Albert1434
Author
02/10/2025
595 Words
279 Views
6 Comments

Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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.

Good Times - 7. Chapter 7

Me and My Horse

Upon the early morning light, we ride as one, Through fields of amber gold, beneath the waking sun. Your hooves beat a rhythm, a heartbeat steady and true, In the endless open spaces, where the sky is wide and blue.

Your mane flows like a river, cascading in the breeze, together we are fearless, my heart's ease. Silent whispers shared, in the language of the free, bound by trust unspoken, just my horse and me.

In the shadows of the woodland, where secrets softly lie, your gentle strength guides me, as the world goes by. Every path we've taken, each journey far and near, with you beside me, there's nothing to fear.

Evening falls with whispers, as stars begin to peek, we rest beneath the night sky, feeling serene and weak. In the stillness of the moment, where dreams and echoes blend, I'm grateful for this bond, my most treasured friend.

Cowboys and Riders in the Sky

In the twilight of the prairie, where the horizon meets the night, Cowboys ride the heavens, beneath the starlit light. Their lassos made of moonbeams, their steeds of purest white, they chase the phantom cattle, across the sky so bright.

With hats pulled low and hearts so bold, they gallop through the air, Echoes of their laughter, carried everywhere. The Milky Way their trail, the constellations their guide, they ride the endless ranges, with no place left to hide.

Ghostly whispers on the wind, the songs of yesteryear, their spirits roam the heavens, ever strong and clear. In dreams they call to wanderers, who gaze up to the sky, to join the celestial rodeo, where the wild spirits fly.

In the hush of midnight, when the world is still, you might hear the thunder of hooves upon the hill. For cowboys and their riders, in the vast celestial sweep, keep watch over the nighttime, in the stars they sleep.

The Duel at Tombstone

In the heart of Tombstone, where the dust clouds rise, two rivals stand with fire in their eyes. The clock strikes noon, and silence fills the air, in this old west town, dangers are always nearby.

A gunslinger dressed in black, with silver trim so fine, His eyes as cold as steel, his stance a deadly sign. With hands poised on holsters, fingers itch to draw, each heartbeat echoes, revealing every flaw.

A tumbleweed rolls by a prelude to the fray, as townsfolk watch from shadows, in fear they stay. The wind blows dust across the street, a whispered, ghostly cue, in this showdown of right versus wrong, the tension grew.

With a draw as quick as lightning, guns blaze loud, Thunderous roars break the gathering crowd. The air crackles with tension, as smoke starts to rise, Reflections of fate in the gunfighters' eyes.

But amidst the chaos, a cowboy stands tall, Steady as an oak, he answers the call. His eyes sharp and focused, his heart filled with might, In the glare of the noon sun, he wins the fight.

The gunslinger's black and silver, fallen to the ground, A tale of valor and justice, in Tombstone town. Smoke clears slowly, a tale etched in time, Of valor and vengeance, of justice and crime.

In Tombstone’s streets, where legends are born, A shootout remembered, in the pages worn. Though the dust will settle, and the years will pass, The spirits of the west in Tombstone still last.

For in this place of shadows, where brave men did contend, the stories of their courage, never truly end.