High Noon

Her dare, stares down the steep barrel
Pointed, at her glaring gaze,
Switching from fore to background
Finding the wielder
In the same entrapment, a duel
In the high tide of a dispute,
Which one will pull the trigger
Tied to the noose, firmly knotted
Tightening, as the seconds flash by,
Each of their triggers, twitches and
Gasping heart dropping moments
Was a polysemy of all that stood still,
And all that will be their epilogue,
Closing covers of steep horizons
Now, just a shallow grave in frantic waters,
She braces for impact from
Her pistol’s kickback, zooming in
On her target’s tremorous eye,
She smirks,
But, before Her pulsating finger dares
She feels cold, from the burning wound
Singeing breath, fogging up her gaze,
As his shadow, topples over her end.

©DorianPoe 2015