Gilead and Frost; The saga continues...A Poem by B.S. HartmanThis is the second installment in the ongoing saga I call Gilead. I have been getting many requests for this second part of the saga and am pleased to let you continue on with the tale. Gilead says "Thank Ye" and to all the SK fans out there aNight slips in with a chill to the darkness, A breeze carries the nickering of horses, Firewood crackles offering small comfort in a large wilderness, Soothing tempers from there original harshness, Gunslingers balanced on a ledge of politeness. Frost pours coffee into twin tin cups, Face brightens as tobacco filled paper is lit up, “This isn’t about you or me.” Frost said then coughed, “We are just pawns made to play rough, As the real culprits go untouched.” Frosts face showing his words held no lies, With a sip of bitter coffee, Somehow knowing Frost needs to get his tale aligned, Wondering how much the old man has seen with those eyes. With a breath of smoke, green eyes land on Sadness set in tired tones he begins to talk with a sigh, “The Grey Man was my boss when we last met in Telluride, Your Pa’s land a key priority in a government land buy, I was just supposed to be the U.S. Marshall along for the ride, Then the Grey Man took interest in the land, A reaction out of instinct brought the gun to my hand, A Dad protecting his own didn’t have to die, As I came to find out later as the Grey Man told me of the lie.” Flicking the ember of his smoke into the flames, He picked up the tale where he had let it lay, “What I thought was justice, that day fell flat on its face, The silver of my badge lay in disgrace, As I heard the Grey Man laugh, his voice poison laced, Words came about trading my soul raising bile sourly tasted, My fingers eagerly grabbed the paper showing the hiding place, Soon to find there was no hiding involved once I saw my son’s face, To see a restful sleep that would forever show innocence.” Feeling God looking at him as he looked to the sky, A single word came to mind as he looked at Frost and sighed, ‘Forgiveness’ as bold a sound as any commandment came to mind, Both While the fire burned bright against the rocks out yonder, The tale had brought them closer, yet nowhere near as brothers, For Praying, as he remembered the face of his Father. The tale was now As the night silently fell, Then heard Frost say, “It’s a long ride to Hell, Get some rest and tomorrow while on the trail, They’ll be plenty of time to tell your tale.” @Bradley S. Hartman www.bradleyshartman.com © 2008 B.S. HartmanAuthor's Note
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Added on May 9, 2008 AuthorB.S. HartmanMorocco, INAboutB.S. Hartman was born at Michael Reese Hospital in Chicago back when television knew what entertainment was and the Presidents of the United States knew what it meant to be the leader of a great count.. more..Writing
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