A poet, from a dusty plain

One morning I woke up, really early. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I worked out, read a little, ate, showered… Sorry for all those Facebook updates… Then I thought, maybe I’ll write a poem. Now, generally, I don’t have those kind of thoughts, like ever. I haven’t written a poem since my junior year of high school, but nonetheless, I gave it a shot. What could it hurt? Be gentle on me. I’m still a novice.

This was written by my 1870’s self, a cowboy. He’s a got a story to share.

I’m a lying man, that’s the only truth I knew.
Mistakes I’ve made, not numbered a few.
Plauged with pain, a lost soul was I.
Downtrodden and whipped, the end was surely nigh.

Then she came, saved me from my plight.
She offered redemption, she showed me the light.
My better self, that’s who I became.
Not for her, nor for the fame.

Changed to deserve an angel from God.
No longer a hypocrite, not guilty of fraud.
A second chance given, it was never earned.
Able to cross them bridges, the ones I burned.

I’m still awaiting for that call.
A woman, who’s going to help me overcome my fall.
So today I stand alone, a decision to make.
To become a man or continue to fake.

This may be too deep for ya. Questions? Call me.

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