Train rolls on to the end of the line
The shadow behind me isn’t mine
“Did you kill the man that killed you?
Or is the duel still on for you too?”

“I am certain of nothing,” he said
Amid countless thoughts in his head
It was either him or me — can’t be both
Left to the confines of a sacred oath

Bones settle and crumble to dust
Gold cracks and begins to rust
I am the dirt and the dirt is me
Every man does his best to be

Ancient ghosts in the cold wind
Offers of redemption they rescind
A broken man on his own to mend
In grey gardens that beg to be tend

Don’t let your shadows darken my door
You’re not welcome here anymore
I did what I did without any regrets
The old sun shines on until it sets.

A poem by Jason S. Sullivan, 02-21-21

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