Dying a Free Man

Finished without a sound.

Broken down

and derelict.

Some say,

you never stood your ground.

Some doubt

the itinerant.


Little bit,

by little bit,

they realize their deficit.

Running with the bit

in their teeth,

feeling the whip,

claiming the championship.


The horse wins the race,

but the owner gets the prize.

This is how it is.

No secret,

no surprise.

Don’t doubt for a second

that you’re running the race

of your life.


He might have had nothing,

but he was free

when he died.

Some men serve,

others sacrifice.

Some will stand,

some will lay supine.


This life is a trap,

the deadliest

that we could devise,

and those who escape it,

get rarer,

and rarer with time.


Slipped off into the night,

like a shadow warrior

after the fight.

No words,

or claims,

or much of anything.


Alone out of the edge,

of a world

that has never been

hospitable to men,

who live their own life.


One day there,

then the next,

a memory.

A ghost,

long before the flesh retired.


So few men exist

out on the edges


They’ve all come in,

or are gone for good

this time.



HG – 2020

Leave a Reply