Never Lands by Bob Atkinson

Never Lands

Part 1

(c)2011 Bob Atkinson

"don't go out there son”

his mama said

"don't give your life away

will be the death of you

for very little pay”

she feared as mothers do

the loss of her first son

with his wild ideas of wealth

over at the setting sun

his mind was firm in his resolve

was no other way

to make a big deal of his life

than going far away

the west was new, a bitter pill

for some with adventure in their souls

not for those who loved living

many out there had turned cold

but this man of high adventure

had pecking at his brain

dreams of glory in the hills

parched from very little rain

took to a wagon train

joining a single family affair

the Oatmans weren't much for song

or even talking for that matter

he moved along with them

steady was the pace

out to the unknown country

out to the never lands

he left them at Taos

couldn't take the strain

of so many days without

conversation to tickle his brain

tracked over green mountains

spent summer in the hills

then at the Pecos River head

went south with waters clear

frequently would meet someone

with clear blue eyes

who would talk his ear off

or more often, had recently died

natives in this region

loved to gain new possessions

by killing those who passed through

on horse, foot or wooden wagon

later on he had heard sadly

the story of the Oatman's fate

having run into men without honor

they were now waiting at heaven's gate

was hard for him to hear

of the fate of those nine

who only wanted adventure

in their sadly lacking lives

he sat upon a large rock

green pine trees all around

looking down into a valley

deeply cut through the mountain

thinking of these bad things

he had seen and heard

he wondered if his decision

to leave home could be reversed

the arrow shot into his shoulder

threw him to the ground

in pain and agony the stone head

into his bone deeply ground

as he lay there in much pain

above could see the form

of a single warrior man

wild paint, bare skin his form

the warrior grabbed his rifle

took his holster with its gun

grabbed his horse's reins

walked away with a silly grin

Part II

the man lay quietly sleeping

an empty bottle near his head

oblivious to the wild world

he had been born into and lived

drinking whiskey for Apache

was done at much great cost

sent them to a blinded stupor

left their life defended not

was seen as an escape

from real life extreme and hard

to another world in which their fate

was easily controlled and loved

a snort a hiss, a flick of hand

to wipe away a fly

he didn't see what was coming on

this forest floor that moonless night

ropes around the ankles

another around the neck

others attached to the wrists

did not disturb his sleep

one who earlier this day

had the upper hand

now became the victim and

subordinate to another's whims

using stealth to shoot an arrow

into a stranger's back

irritated the quarry badly

so the hunter, he was tracked

into the forest deeply lush

beyond the traveled trails

up into the wild woods

which had never seen a man

the one who took his horse

and rifle meant for hunting

took his sixgun and proceeded

of him to think nothing

because he wasn't Apache blood

or of the fellow's band

meant he wasn't human
in the eyes of the other man

not worth a thought to think

too much effort for naught

when those who weren't of kin

had no souls to be bought

but this irritated the target

until he tracked the thief

to retrieve what was his property

an idea Apaches didn't think

private ownership of material goods

goods only meant for one

didn't enter into the thoughts

of this oh so complex man

that which Ussen made

was made for all to take

depending upon skills of stealth

or in an organized frenzied raid

now the hunter became the hunted

way it worked in this harsh land

the stronger killed the weak

and took all that he had

so now a rope was tied

around a right hand wrist

the other end firmly fixed
to a leather saddle's horn

 

earlier the Apache shot

with an arrow point of stone

into the back of a stranger

a man he didn't know

so quarry slept his last good sleep

for many days to come

when he awoke he would feel the pain

of doing another wrong

no detection made

of the hunter's motions

while passed out in a stupor

simply prey to the other's uses

too drunk to even care

one last moment of freedom

ended because of long tradition

stealing what is useful

to gain possessions wanted

a horse, a rifle and a gun

was the norm of these lands

what you wanted you took from some

in this manner of wealth creation

of theft from a stranger

you get not a chance to interview

and understand your quarry's makeup

this time he had bad luck

spirits weren't on his side

the one he had attacked

was one with much fierce pride

it was his luck in his greed

to hurt a superman

who knew of life as no one did

was expert in many lands

the horse was made to pull the rope

stretched tight upon the wrist

of one who slept from whiskey

found in a saddle kit

the rope pulled an arm stretched out

feet tied with hemp to trees

spread eagled in a flash, no light

to be had looking up at the trees

passed the night in agony

stretched four ways with some ropes

when dawn broke was hopeless

a foot off the ground, face up he floated

(to be continued)