When I am done. A sad poem.


When I am done..

I became the old man who waiting for no-one. Once I wanted everything and now.
I need little.

I wonder where do the old soldiers go? When they are so tired.
Maybe we are doomed to die alone.

I drink the soldier whiskey alone tonight and I am not lonely.
The Black Velvet is the soldier last friend.
I sat with many soldiers waiting for their last breathe.
Cancer and agent orange was killing them and the Black Velvet made the dying days okay.

I love my books, I love the jazz and I love Marianne Faithful.
Marianne sing me the truth. We will become sad and desire less.
I pour three finger of the Black Velvet into my favorite shot glasses.

And I asked the night. Can I stay strong for the grandchildren?
I raised the first finger of the whiskey and I tell the quiet night.
Please tell my friend lost to war. Johnnie getting old.
He will join you soon at the soldier’s table. I drink the whiskey.

Once I believed, life was mine to own.
Now I know, I was just spitting into the wind and I lost.

I lift the second finger of the Black Velvet.
I tell the dark night.
Did I do enough?

I raise the glass of whiskey to the sky and I tell the ghosts of dead friends killed in war.
I outlived my usefulness.
I drink the whiskey.

I hold the third finger of the whiskey and I tell the midnight hours.
Thank you beautiful Marianne for the song.

The song of Winter had overtook me. Old soldier is so damn tired.
I must stay alive till sickness steal my mind and body.

Grandchildren need me to take them fishing and to the lakes.

I raise the glass and I tell the ghost of many, who cannot leave my mind.
I will stay alive for you.  You left me my good friends too soon.
Damn war steal the best from us. I drink the third finger of whiskey.

I filled a glass, half filled with  a glass of water.
I tell the dark night,
the 32 pistol isn’t loaded and I won’t die tonight.
The ghost of many won’t allow me to die.
They whisper to me.
Please tell my children. I loved them so.

I am the leftover man.
I wanted to die in war and
death didn’t want me.

Now when I am done.
What will they remember?
My family, my friends.
Did I do enough.

I drink the glass of the whiskey.
And I told the night.
One more day.
Dancing Coyote
Category : poetry
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