Sanctuary…


Sanctuary…

In the valley of the gun, men learn the taste of blood.
When the soldiers fight, when the soldier kill.
They learn the blood song.
My father fought in the Korean war and he fought in the Vietnam war.
He tried to drink the memories away.
The sanctuary of the rum saved him and the rum murdered him.
He told me, son, I left the war.
No-one told me thank you and now.
I drink with my dead friends in the midnight hours.
Father died young, the rum killed his insides and
he didn’t complain.
He told me, son, the damn war had finally killed me.
Slowly and badly my son.
Please don’t allow your children to follow my hell-bound life.
The sad part. I followed his journey.
Now I drink my whiskey and I talk to dead friend killed in the new wars.
My children didn’t follow my path and I am glad.
Tonight, I write the whiskey lullaby for no-one to hear.
Coyote
Category : poetry
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