He was a rakish rogue and a scoundrel
With a taste for other men’s gold
And feared neither man nor beast
As through the sylvan glade he rode
Riding faster and ever faster
To a fate that he couldn’t know

His steed was a pitch as the night
His cloak as dark as his soul
He rode through the cover of darkness
So as to evade the king’s patrol
Riding faster and ever faster
To a fate he could not control

The wind was a vortex of madness
He could hear the banshee’s wail
As he galloped between the shadows
At a pace that would make lesser men quail
Riding faster and ever faster
To a fate that would lay him low

At his side he sported a cutlass
And his boots came up to his thighs
He pushed his mount at a hellish pace
To protect his stolen prize
Riding faster and ever faster
To meet fate’s final blow

Soon he would sail the apogean tide
Looming before him from out of the gloom
He could make out the form of his ship
Never knowing he rode towards his doom
Riding faster and ever faster
To a fate whose dues he owed

How could he know that a ransom
Had been placed upon his head
As he raced to make good his escape
One of his own men shot him dead
And his blood spilled faster and faster
It was his fate to die thusly so

  Author Bio

Jean Iverson is a retired oil and gas revenue accountant who is happily pursuing her love of literature, reading and writing poetry, and continuing her education both through academia and through workshops offered by some of the most accomplished writers she's been fortunate enough to study with.

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