Skip to content

Battle Cry of a Weary Cowboy: Trading Spurs for Wings

Updated: at 04:23 AM

I’m torn between life and death, teetering on the edge. The mirror reflects the image of a man older than the 31 years he’s lived. The lines of battle against both real and imagined demons carve deep furrows in my face. The imprint of my past - my choices and mistakes, the disappointments and losses - is indelible, a tattoo etched onto my soul.

Each step I take, punctuated by the jingling of my spurs, reminds me of my burdens. Not just tools of a cowboy but symbols of my struggles. Each jingle speaks volumes of my sacrifices to keep my family safe—the reminder stings like the pricks of a thousand thorns.

Squinting against the searing sunlight, I yearn for the relief of wings. Fantasies of soaring above troubles paint my dreams not as a death wish but an earnest longing while I’m still alive and breathing. But guilt shackles me. My son’s innocent laughter, my daughter’s trusting eyes, my partner’s comforting touch, and the stubborn love in my mother’s gaze are my lifebelt, my anchor amidst this whirlpool of restlessness.

Sometimes, when I sit by the window, watching the sky bleed hues of crimson as the sun sets, I strum my old guitar. The strings vibrate under my worn-out hands, the melody of my thoughts taking rhythmic form. I can see my children perch by the doorway, soft smiles lighting up their faces while their bodies sway to the strumming rhythm.

Mark Anthony Llego

I walk under the endless sky, spurs chiming under the starlight, Burning the midnight oil, seeking solace in the twilight. Listening to the silence of the night, singing my last cowboy song, Hoping for the morn where I can find where I belong.

The Yippee-ki-iy-ay rings out into the twilight, a testament to my unyielding spirit. Even in despair, it’s a scream of survival, an echo of resilience bouncing back from the surrounding hills. My children’s giggles amplify the sound, adding a note of hope. Our collective laughter is my battle cry, an affirmation never to surrender until my song is sung entirely.

My tale spans years of struggle, painted in hues of grief and triumph. I’ll continue to fight for my family, my love for them stronger than any adversary. I’m still that weary cowboy, yet not without aspiration. I aspire to trade my spurs for wings—not in death, but in life—yearning for peace and resolution. My song of pain and hope will continue reverberating in the night’s stillness. This journey, this ‘cowboy’s battle,’. is far from over. Yippee-ki-iy-ay.