THE MAN THAT HE ONCE WAS

In better times, Anders Thorne once was
a good husband and loving father,
married to his sweetheart, Rosie Smith,
who’d grown on the Chesapeake waters.

He worked as a lawyer, was well renowned,
had a little boy by the name Chester,
if fate were just he would’ve lived out his days
and saw his happiness never perturbed.

But when the war with the north broke out
to his country he was compelled to stay true,
he said good-bye and stole away north,
marching to war with the boys in blue.

His father-in-law said "Good riddance!"
and moved his precious daughter away,
to a big mansion deep in Richmond,
where he felt she could safely stay.

The war dragged on, and in the end
Richmond found itself under siege,
all in the city knew things were rough,
that there was no real hope of relief.

Day after day the big guns did roar on,
a crashing hail of fire and shell,
until one April day when the Union struck
and the town of Petersburg fell.

Unable to hold Richmond any longer
General Lee led his army to the west,
but Anders, arched into the fallen town,
hoping somehow to find his dearest.

But cannons and not the most precise of things,
and when he reached her father’s home,
he saw cinders scattered, shards of broken glass,
from the hallway ceiling’s grand old dome.

He found an old slave who explain it all,
that whoever had been inside no was dead,
a cannon-ball had ignited a great blaze,
and they died of the smoke in their beds.

Anders collapsed when he heard the news,
and roared out his agony and pain.
He railed at God,”I fought to free people!
And as thanks you go take her away?!”

Bereft of his son and his dearest love,
he walked away right then and there,
deserted the army and wandered off,
if they hanged him he did not care.

He aimlessly started heading for the west,
and as he walked along he wound find
the ‘truth’ of it all, so clear and so crisp,
took over his grief-battered mind.

God cared not for the trials of men,
nor the world that he had once made.
The beasts had it right, take what you can!
Destroy any who gets in the way.

The only rules that mattered were anarchy,
laws of the jungle, ever cold and cruel.
He was done pretending that there was a point,
manners and honor were lies for the fools…

For four years he wandered, a human scourge,
throwing in with the worst type of dregs.
He robbed from so many without a thought,
and when he slept, he saw only red.

He soon was wanted in countless counties,
but he felt no remorse for his deeds.
They didn’t understand their laws were bunk,
that life was nothing but anguish and need.

He threw in with Black Thompson along the way,
a killer who would slayed all inis path,
they had a plan to knock off a train,
loaded with gold bullion and greenback cash.

The robbery went off smooth and easy,
Black Thompson didn’t have to fire his gun.
The gang rode away into Nebraska hills,
dreaming of the haul they had won.

At a small hill they dropped their masks,
and began dividing up the big haul,
when they heard a whinny, saw a rider,
not far off, on a horse rather small.

“Get that bastard, he’s seen our face!”
was the cry Black Thompson gave out.
Anders and two others, Barton and Bill,
charged at the figure with a shout.

The small figure rode and they pursued
for three mils up to a long ridge,
Barton got ahead, cornered the rider,
drawing near they saw it was a kid.

He shook in his saddle, lip quivering,
be could not be much older than eight.
...about the age that Chester would be,
had he not been stolen by fate.

Bill and Barton whopped and hollered,
but Anders felt a cold, surging chill.
“Best not to wait, do the job Thorn,”
were the words of the rustler Bill.

Anders looked at the boy on his pony,
and then slowly he removed his Colt,
he lifted it up, then turned on Bill,
the pistol round made the thug jolt.

He fell from his horse, and Barton gawked,
so Anders shot him square between the eyes.
“Run boy,”he cried,”Ride, do not stop!
I am going to buy you the time!’

The child took off, bawling out in tears,
and Anders turned back to the distant gang.
They had heard the shot, and rode near,
four of them mounted on painted mustangs.

Anders said,”Lord, what have I become?
If you’re out there, listen just this once.
I do not care what happens to me,
but you better protect that little one.”

With that he kicked his horse in the flanks
and charged towards Thompson and the men,
not expecting it, two of them went down
before they realized he was no longer Friend.

Now it was just Thompson and Stomping Bird
who returned fire as he charged their way.
He felt two bullets hit, but he did not fall,
he bulled his tired horse into the fray!

Stomping Bird appeared suddenly in front of him,
anders fired at him without respite,
their horses collided and he was thrown clear,
then landed hard upon his right side.

Bleeding from wounds, his ribs broken,
he turned over and saw Black Thompson
seated on his horse, wounded in one arm,
but in the other held his Smith & Wesson.

“Damn fool I was to ever trust a mad man,”
the thug snarled as he gazed on down.
“You shoot up my men, and for that act
I’m leaving your body to rot on this ground!”

Anders just smiled at his former partner,
said,”Go ahead and use that big gun.
Better I die the man I once was,
then live as the monster I’ve become.”

Thompson took aim, Anders jolted his wrist,
sliding out a two-barrel Derringer,
gunshots rang out across the prairie,
an echoing report of their fire.

Thompson slumped low, pitched off his mount,
two slugs gone straight through his head,
Anders struggled hard to catch his breath,
his chest home to a new piece of lead.

His vision was fading, but he swore he saw,
standing a short way away in the grass,
his dear sweet Rosie, smiling so gently...
he could feel the pain started to pass.

He closed his eyes, felt her gentle touch,
and felt no fear that moment because
for all of his sins he’d meet his maker
having died the man he once was.