The Slump When the ride comes to sticky, when you can't let go, when all you can feel, is the rodeo. when the bull rumbles angrily, when he bellows in rage, when you don't understand, about the battle you wage. When you can feel every cowboy, whose ever rolled his spurs, and walk out of the arena, carrying all thier hurts. when you hang your head low, cause you can't lift it high, when your spirits been torn, and you've lost all your try. When you can't remember, a pain free day outta bed, and the only thing you realize, is the pain in your head. When the tears of grit roll, a river down your cheeks, and the years of dirt tear up, the glory that you seek. When there isn't anything left, but to hang on and ride, just rememeber the feeling, when your flying high. When the game became your life, and you gave your soul to play, and every single cowboy, it's taken along the way. Everytime you straddle, or turn to face the bull, everytime you stand up, and give a rope a pull. Remeber while your riding, why you chose to play, and if you never win again, the glory you can say. The action of bull riding, is just a small part of who you are, the title of bull rider, classifies you a star. By Jenn LaRose. Return to home Return to poems list