The Last Walk

I am the ruler of this mountain of dirt,
The wind whispers my name and ruffles my shirt.
The eyes of a thousand sons await my move;
Ever and always I have something to prove.

I carry my fate hidden in my right hand,
The world awaits the results of this last stand.
I stretch to the sound of ten silent breaths,
I deliver under the promise of death.

Will I continue to be this mesa’s king?
Will my name take flight on heavy golden wings?
Sadly, no - it was low and outside, ball four;
Now here comes the coach to say I’ll pitch no more.

The End

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