OLD FASHIONED ROGUE

Old fashioned rogue, marched a zigzag near,
Faint cunning smile and swaying long wear,
Seeing me, pulled gun from leathery case,
Shouting, heart from his whole base
Dissolving behind bush, I held hard,
Murmuring, 'lord of moldy beard'
Behind leafy twigs, and fading through branches
Peeping his march with heart punching chest
There! There…. Shouted three from another bushy land
Eloped near, jumping high with guns on hand
All black masked and eyes barely out
Yelling, crying like drunken watchman’s shout
Three dark bullets through his rusted leather coat
Pierced and punched him like sunken baseless boat
Floating over thickened slice of his bloody shore
Yelled “Let not his heart pump anymore”
His cap flew like trodden chopper’s wing
Arms fell listless as in losing wrestler’s ring
Calm and pale with drenched shrunken sheath
Diamond beads pearly, strewn wide beneath
Voice echoed “blood drinking hands and gun”
Fixed to the gold coins rolling down to run
Squelching, skating over thickened sniper’s blood
Pegged like pebbles on furious retreating flood
Above on bushy tree, curled dumb and keen
Dead below and three near, only terror seen
Sight numbed listless like old chopped branch
Peeping with slant gaze to those nearby march
Uprooted those masked man, pegged golden coin
Laughter and cunning grin across their chin
Alas they marched away with loaded beads,
Smashed from fallen victim’s tethering threads

Uncoiled, thus myself alike vine round to free
Bubbling heart, above fallen prey of three
Murmuring chants croaked like busy gully rush
Sewing crushed heart, spewed across bush
Crawling with dribbling sweats, towards shady tree,
I praised them ‘holy gunmen’, insane though they be,
How could the beasts be savior for instance?
Or some divine eyes watching from distance?