Once an Outlaw

I hunted down every outlaw
that crossed my line of sight—
chasing shadows of old memories,
restless days and sleepless nights.

The desert winds kept whisperin’,

“Boy, you can’t outrun your past,”

but stubborn hearts are slow to learn,
and trouble always rides in fast.

Nowhere left to turn,
no friendly trail to follow,
just dust beneath my boots
and pride that’s grown too hollow.

Most days I kept to darkness,
living quiet, laying low
haunted by the choices made
and the seeds I helped to sow.

But somewhere in the silence,
as the moon began to glow,
my soul cried out in tremblin’ words

“Lord… help me before I go.”

Because even the hardest drifter,
beneath the scars and grit and steel,
still hopes there’s grace enough for him
a place where broken hearts can heal.

So I stand here with hands open,
no guns, no lies, no show
just a weary man asking mercy…
Oh Lord… help me before I go.

MarkWaldrop