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By coujeaux Date: 2003 May 06 Comment on this Work [[2003.05.06.22.18.2772]] |
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Oye, these sands have a tale for the traveler, of many before them, fates intertwined, Caution thrown to dusty winds came back to haunt them, as thereupon coyotes dined. Unforgiving, the arms of the desert; stop for a moment and your lifetime burns away, As the last sight you will ever see is the halo of a retreating moon turned infernal day, There was one I remember, a story I heard as a youth that I still cannot believe true, So let me share my incredulity, yet as grand as the tale, in a legend I pass on to you. It was said he ran from the federales like none other, elusive as the truth of his crime, He claimed his innocence loud as screams of a child who sees his mother but one time. Assumptions were what cursed him to life on the run; his own was never to be caught, Then and there realizing what no turning back truly meant; all had become for naught. With what he could carry and fierce pride, horse matching in stride, onward they rode, Far from pursuit of the mounted, into land uncharted, uncounted, the forbidden abode. Forty nightfalls, as many blistered forays later, lawmen wavering but too close behind, The desperado who never was settled into encampment, exhausted of body and mind. He was where you decide where next to go, if at all; asking worth of his continued run, At last a spirit seemed snared as his person never fared; there would be no forty-one. Just as surrender arrived so did the cavalry, but the dunes determined end to a chase, Swirling as they had neared, they reached for one who had disappared without a trace. |