All cowboy poems on this website are copyright Lincoln Rogers
and may not be copied, distributed, and/or used without written
permission from the author.
If you would like to use a poem of Lincoln's for a specific purpose,
I Hear Them Calling...
By Lincoln Rogers, (c) 2003
I hear them calling me a hero,
As if the word might save their souls.
Can’t stop the echo of its sound,
In nightmare dreams as black as coal.
They speak of me in tones of worship,
I wonder if they know inside,
My life of solitude unending,
No choice except to gun and ride.
Corrupted lawmen on my trail,
With suspect posse’s bought and sold.
Cold holstered steel’s my lone amigo,
I’ve nothing but the wind to hold.
No home embraces me for long,
I feel its walls close in with shame.
Hard earth and stone become a bed,
While distant stars regard my frame.
In every forest waits my killer,
Tall grass hides evil with a bullet.
A trembling finger on a trigger,
If a coward sees my back, they’ll pull it.
It makes no difference why I’m hunted,
My face on posters through the West.
Past deeds have placed my head in gun sights,
But I’ve got nothing to confess.
I lost my family to the devil,
Blood money’s reach can travel far,
From richer men who grasp at power,
Protected by a tainted star.
The heat of white-hot vengeance surged,
In vows to never stop this fight,
‘Til every one was dead and buried,
Their murdering secrets brought to light.
Wealthy circles name me “Outlaw,”
Passing judgment based on lies.
Explain away my calls for justice,
While sins of fathers stain their eyes.
I hear them calling me a hero,
Those trampled families beaten down,
By lawless robbers wearing suits,
Who come and thieve away their towns.
The realization’s been long coming,
My private war may never end.
Not since I’ve made some powerful enemies,
And the good folk need a friend.
I hear them calling me a hero...
