Ethereal Moments The Poetry of Donavon Scott Vinson
The Campsite of Reflection
The night falls dark and silent
upon my campsite as I silently
light my fire and throw on a
rusty pan and toss a slab of
bacon into its sizzling heat
and start my coffee to brewing
after my long hard ride through
the treacherous badlands of Arizona.
My face is grizzled and unshaven
caked in the dust and sweat of the
long ride through the desert sands.
My desperation to get away is slowly
calmed by the friendly light of the
blazing fire and I begin to finally
relax having left the angry posse
far behind in the cold silence of
the western night.
Silently I chew upon a piece of
tasteless hardtack and sip steaming
coffee from an old tin cup reflecting
upon that terrible day when I gunned
down that young cowpoke in cold blood.
Regret for my deed enters not into my
steely mind because he called me out
without cause nor good reason other
than to make a name for himself and
to garner the fleeting fame of a gunfighter
and destined to die a horrible and quick
death on the dusty plains of the old west.
Sadly he wasn't as fast as he believed
and my aim was fast and true so now
he lies cold and rotting in boot hill
just another misguided victim of
ignorant self grandeur.
Donavon Scott Vinson