To the Setting Sun

by Thalia

Squatting down on the ridge, I look over the land
To the far horizon, to the setting sun.
I look at the trails on the ground,
Intertwining in a maze of dust, weaving in and out of hand.
I look at the sky, a bloody mess of streaking reds,
A marvelous rug of vivid blues and violets,
Ready to explode like a keg
Of powder into the dark pitch of night.

Farther west, nestled in the hills is a town.
My town.
And for a little time, the rigid band of steel encircling my heart
There, amidst the broken boards called buildings,
There, amidst the strange melting pot of humanity,
There nestle my friends.
There nestles my family.

One dark-clad warrior with a foul mood, walked through Hell
And came back whole.
One gunslinger with a heart of gold walked by his side,
Sought the Devil to free his comrade.
One son of a preacher lost his faith in God
To renew his faith in Men.
One dark-skinned healer, gifted in his art,
Sought after for his gift, survived combat.
One gambler, with no faith, not even in himself,
Sought out trust, beat up shame, and found his self.
One kid, alone, lost among men,
Found his way to hearts and started them beating again.

And I, the bounty hunter, leaving on the run,
With no place to call home, no friend to call mine;
And I, the sharpshooter, killing was my game,
Shutting out Life, leaving it behind me;
I, the leper, was shot down in beauty
The day my sky blue eyes crossed the Devil's gaze;
And I, the loner, stepped in to save a man
And found a family.

Comments to: