We were young once


We were young once

“We poets in our youth begin with gladness; But there off in the end despondency and madness.”Wordsworth

“Soldiers rest! Thy warfare o’er, Dream of fighting fields no more: sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, morn of toil, nor nights of waking.”Sir Walter Scott”

Easy life and quiet death.”Sir Walter Scott

Old Poet sat by Lake St. Clair and he wrote. My old debts are not due now. They are just forgotten promises made. I remember beautiful faces, beautiful places. I loved and they are not forgotten.


Now the old poet have his Lake St. Clair and his bleeding words. Dead memories deeply engraved into his skin and his broken heart.
The lake is near him now. She is dancing for him. The Autumn storms making the waves alive and beautiful. He found the Lake St. Clair with different eyes now. He had loved the sea and now he found his old friend. She was waiting for him to gather his thoughts and become wiser. Lake St. Clair is free and never tamed. She made him believe, life was more then him. Was more to see and to do.


The poet sought the good death once. He found wars, he saw terror and he saw murder. Now he seek peace. Now he accepted less and old age doesn’t frighten him. He learn. Death will come for you, when he wants.  He loved the words of the ancient writers and he indulge in the books and the story. Once he was the California Dark Poet, the drunk and witty poet of Austin. Now he is the old man near the lake. Who write in silence for no-one now.
He wanted everything once and now he accept less.


The poet wrote into his journal. Dryden was right. Men love madness. Men love war. Somehow the dreams and hope for peace was forgotten.
Once the poet loved the hard drink, he loved the pretty women and he loved dancing with the Winter storms of California. Old age made him learn. Every kiss and embrace. They were miracle. He had not forgotten love. He is waiting for the last opportunity at the dance of love.


Lake St. Clair was dancing today. The Autumn storm giving energy and movement to the water. He brought his Jack London book “When God laugh” and Kosinski book “Being their” to the lake. His friends always. He wrote into a journal.


“We lived once and we can live some more. We danced, we loved and we knew good and bad days.
A honored life, knowing love, knowing freedom and children at your feet.Today his w orld is falling into madness again. We must seek forgiveness, healing and love. We are what we leave behind. What did we leave behind??”


A pretty lady sit with him. Hair of ginger and a smile of gold. She told him. Daddy, we will be okay.


Dancing Coyote

Category : poetry