Gunman Poem by Saint Cynosure
Gunman
Clean my stick,
load my six,
meet him in the street has the dust blows thick.
Wind to my back,
stance to the left,
empty him of breath with a slug in his chest.
Feel the chill inside,
pufffing up with pride,
mount up on my horse and way I will ride.
The gunman that I am...
Sunday, November 13, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: death
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Poems By Ken Bennight
Best Poems
Best Member Poems
Best Classical Poems
New Poems
New Poets
Best Member Poets
Best Classical Poets
Explore Poems
Explore Poets
Poem Of The Day
Love Poems
Baby Poems
Death Poems
Sad Poems
Birthday Poems
Wedding Poems
Nature Poems
Sorry Poems
Hero Poems
Poetry E-Books
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/28/2024 1:47:00 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I like this. Clean my stick, load my six, meet him in the street as the dust blows thick. By 'stick' I interpreted as 'rifle'. 'six', of course is his six-shooter or pistol. Of course, not every gunman can be lucky every time. Nice poem, in any case!