The old soldier

 

 

The old soldier

 

Some of us had learn. The simple things are so damn sweet. The laughter of children, holding hands with love one’s and dancing in the dark with a pretty lady.

 

My father told me. Please don’t follow my path. Damn war kill all the kindness we have. We lose more than we shall gain. I followed my father’s footsteps. Now I know.

 

The days of piss and vinegar youth, spend with good friends. The best days. Soldiers days, long conversation, drinking songs and celebrating victories and sharing losses.

 

Sister told me. Your face had change. War had killed your kindness. You left us and you didn’t come back. I drink alone in the dark tavern on the days of remembering faces killed in the useless war. I look in the mirror and I see. Old eyes, who had seen too much. I buy two drinks, one for me and one for a miss friend. I raise the glass high and say. To friends here and gone.

 

The funny part is. I hear the my friend telling me. John, “Man-up and quit crying. Tell my children, I love them and be a good Grandfather for me. Things done are finished. We were soldiers, we fought in faraway wars and we stood tall. Payment due for me and you are alive. No-more tears for me. Live life hard, for me and for you.

 

Old soldiers don’t cry no-more. He raised his friend whiskey to the sky. He whispered. Save a seat for me in heaven. We will talk again one day my friend.

 

Coyote