Leather boots perched on a rail,
and not a speck of dust is showing.
A cigarette between the lips,
but there's no ember glowing.
A redhawk circles overhead,
but all I hear is chickens crowing...
All was then and all is lost. You're clinging to the final showing...

Number One and number Two were banished into cyberspace.
And further down the line the one who envied to usurp the space.

I was sitting on the Mighty Mountain. I watched the Wishanabes go
marching through the lowly valley,
following row by row.
But that was then and this is now.
It doesn't matter anyhow;
your fleeting sense of stolen fame.
You have lost your "toughest game".

Digging bones and brushing dirt,
abandoned in your lonely hurt...
a forgotten name, forgotten face
lost within cyberspace.


22022022 © Winnie Carolina