(I’ve never done a poetry story before, so here’s my shot at it. It’s a story about a cowboy, so I suppose it could be called a western. If you are willing to give it, I would love critiques, as is this is fairly new territory for me.)

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The desert wind whistled by,

And the cowboy began to stir;

The frozen ground began to pry

On the edges of his nerves.

The shouts of men in the distance,

A prelude of wars to come,

Caused the man to jump to his feet,

Handling a smoking gun.

A wanted man,

Here he stood,

Forever against the world.

And as they came,

There he stood,

Starring down the world.

Five men from the distant past,

Crossed distances to make his last

Day on earth a day to remember,

To put him down in the cold December.

But this cowboy with troubles deep,

Knew his soul was his to keep,

And Five men would dig a grave,

But it was their bodies the dirt would save.

As is the way when death might come,

The mind of mind’s life doth sum,

The tune of memories great hum.

For if this day was to be the last

He knew his heart’s song should cast

Light onto troubles past.