Loss - A villanelle

The cowboy's eyes are deep like sunken ships;
He tries to keep His breath a steady rate;
As Loss exhales Himself through drunken lips.

His hands hold faith to sleep and often slip;
Insomnia is rampant as of late;
The cowboy's eyes are deep like sunken ships.

A young life falls through Earth into his grip;
So great she is, for Loss is all she hates;
While He exhales her life through drunken lips.

He finds too many souls on which to trip;
The Cowboy's palms were turned to black by fate.
The cowboy's eyes were filled with sunken ships.

This boat he'll sail to Hell, and let it tip;
To ease His death, His conscience he'll sedate,
as He exhales his fate through drunken lips.

With every fortune at his fingertips--
A million more he'll fail to push away.
The Cowboy's eyes, alone, are sunken ships,
and Loss exhales his sins through drunken lips.