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Mon, May 11 2026, 5:30:48 [ Login ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, [9], 10 ]

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Date Posted: 01:46:41 12/13/06 Wed
Author: Gunslinger
Author Host/IP: node186.154.136.67.1dial.com / 67.136.154.186
Subject: Hang Up the Pen

There came a time that I hung my saddle,
To never ride rough-stock again.
Then I stopped my drinking, and roamin'
The highways...I saw that I just couldn't win.

I've slowed down on dreamin'. 'Cause they don't come true.
This life puts my head in a spin...
My writing's gone flat, so what do I do?
I guess I'll just hang up my pen.

I used to live in the past with my writing-
At times I could still hear the cheers.
I still taste the dust from all the arenas-
I saw in my foolhardy years.

But I've lost the feel of a bronc through the rein-
The smell of the leather and sweat...
But somewhere inside is a cold, worm of fear-
That's one thing I'll never forget.

I knew I was finished, when my dreams were haunted,
By broncs falling back in the chutes...
It got so bad that a cold dread would fill me-
While strapping my spurs to my boots.

The same thing has happened, when it comes to writing,
So maybe this poem is the end...
And maybe I'll try my hand now at drawing,
After I've hung up my pen.

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