Black laced pen…


Blood laced pen….

Fight or flee?
love or hate?
stay or go?
Laugh or cry?
I wonder what Hemingway remembered in his last moment. Did he remember war or the face of Agnes?
My pen does bleed to paper. I remember forgotten promises and my sins. Locked away sins. Old sin, old lies and old faces remembered. Just a chapter of a life, adding to another chapter. Teaches us, what is right and what is wrong.
I told the children. Many kind of wars. I have choose war over staying in one place too long. Now my illness and wounds are my decision. I joined the Army twice. I didn’t like the liars in real life. I don’t blame God and I don’t blame the Devil. I believe, we land where we suppose to.
Love and hate, like rolling the dice. You win sometimes and you lose sometimes. My old man wisdom is. “Better to had loved often than to never know the dance of the kiss and the embrace.”
I left home at eighteen and I lived on four continents and I drank a whiskey in 48 states. My Gypsy blood make me want everything and some more. I never knew, should I stay or should I go?  In the end. I landed twelve miles from where I was born.
I have laughed often, I have cried often and I learned. A good life is having many friends and children at your feet. When you hold love close. You will know both tears and laughter.
My blood laced pen is content. I followed my father’s blood. War, women, drink and laughter. I tell my grandchildren. Better to had lived then wished you did more.
My dear grandfather told me often. “Johnnie, you are lucky. You have traveled the world. You did great things. Old men need these memories.
When I give up and I accept death kiss. What will be my last thoughts be? War or maybe the pretty gals, who gave me the sweet kisses.
Coyote
Category : poetry
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