The old man loves his westerns,
In his books, or on TV —
He dreams of being on the range,
The horses running free

Within the confines of his room,
The world is opened wide:
Whatever he may look like, he’s
A hero deep inside

And what to you is corny, or
To me might be banal –
He sees in it nobility,
Outside the old corral

We know it’s not reality,
But there has been a cost
That’s come since heroes ruled the day
And villains always lost

He’s just a man who you may pass
Or you may even know:
Who wishes life was right and fair
But cannot make it so

And so he reads his westerns, and
He tumbles off to sleep:
And sees a world of promises
That good men always

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

7 thoughts on “Westerns”

      1. Thank you for bringing this piece of my dad, long gone with his spirit, back to me tonight. I needed that.

  1. That one winter when the kids and I had no boots for trudging to the library, I borrowed a box of books from my cousin. She was no reader — they were her ex-husband’s books. About 12 Louis L’Amour westerns and 1 KJV bible. I’ve liked cowboys (and God) ever since.

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