Boot Hill Poem by Bruce Schwab

He came unbidden, without permission
(I did not ask or invite him so)
Perched on my shoulder of his own volition
(I did but ask him please to go)
He Lied! Saying soon to take his leave
(The better myself I should have known)
And wing his melancholy to the breeze
(Then felt his talons tighten though)
What the purpose reason or ill deed
(At this I struggled for him to throw)
Has him linger with promise to be freed
(Then felt a strength equal my own)
His Eyes! Black orbs reflect my own despair
(Glistening keen of my own dark mirror)
Seeming to state it none of his affair
(In fact, only I allow him purchase there)