The Snake and the Outlaw
The Outlaw:
I can hear the gallop of the pale horse rider.
Death swiftly approaches.
Memories of my momma come about.
At dawns light she’d be stirin’ up in the kitchen.
My mouth is runnin’ like a river just thinkin’ about it.
I yearn for crackle berries, overland trout and a pile of hot rocks.
I reckon I’d kill a man for momma’s flap jacks.
That’s what I yearn for.
But...
Basking in the glow of the desert sun, throwing caution to the wind.
Once again sidestepping the crossbeams of the law, with my six shooter in hand and steed by my side.
I hear the clang of my spurs as a trail full of dust fills the warm desert sky.
In a hail of bullets and a fist full of glory is how an outlaw should die.
Blessed is the outlaws final ride.
That’s what I live for.
But...
Cursed is the wicked life of an outlaw.
My executioner has ruled his verdict, there is no blaze of glory for me.
The reaper has delivered his punishment and it runs its course though my veins.
I gaze upon the reapers eyes and I’m reminded.
“Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field”
Genesis 3:1-24
The Snake:
I scurried along on my belly through the brush and sand.
I take a glance at this outlaw, a weathered old man.
Cursed is he for claiming stake on my territory.
Forgive me lord as I protect my domain.
Cursed with this poison, I’ll inject this outlaw with pain.
I’m the beast of the field and no outlaw is as subtle as I.
