8 Seconds In Hell

Cowboy Poetry



and wound around his fist,

he punches the fit

into place.

Denim and leather-clad legs

wrap around

the massive form below him,

of the ride he drew tonight.

The bull,

known as 'Lucifer'.

The bull,

never before

conquered, nor controlled.

Aptly named,

he's sent more than one man,

who bargained his soul

astride his back,

into purgatory.

But Damian,

the cowboy

who sits astride him now,

fears no man...

nor animal.

His black hat

angles low over

his deadset eyes

and determination

lines his face.

With a single nod,

he sets the chute

to opening

and digs in

for the duration.

His thighs clamp hard,

as Lucifer does his best

to unseat the rider,

bucking and snorting

like a hound of Hades.

Lucifer twists,

Damian meets his direction.

Lucifer thunders,

Damian rides out

his storm.

Both bull and rider,

are unbending

in their desire.

Both relentless

in their quest.

Moments tick by

like drawn out hours,

each one punctuated

with sweat and brawn,

dust and dirt.


intent on dislodging

that which is intent

on remaining,

gives one last surge.


draws upon his deep-seeded


and calls upon

his every will to ride it out.

He feels himself struggle

to gain the upperhand,

and Lucifer,

taking note of the brief unsureness,

lunges upwards.

But tonight, is historic

and no bull-headed beast

can change what's fated,

as the sound of the bell

rings in Damian's ears.

He's done it.

Rode the bull,

no man could ride.

He's survived,

8 seconds in hell!

View cathycavalcante's Full Portfolio