When I am done and a beautiful Marianne Faithfull song.
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 the old soldiers go. When they are so… Continue reading
Tag Archive: short-story
Disease.
DISEASE. Two strangers sat together.Discussing things that didn’t matter. The woman looked at the man.Told him.I was once a beauty once.Men begged for my attention. He told her.Beauty is one less… Continue reading
Midnight invitation.
“Midnight Invitation”, 2016, Artwork by Yuriy Ku Drop Midnight invitation. The night was long and the song was very good. Downtown Austin was alive and well. 5,000 people gathered together to celebrate the… Continue reading
Please take my heart, please take my hands.
Please take my hand, please take my heart. Old man told the young soldier in the Fort Louis NCO club. You must die to learn to live. You must lose everything to appreciate… Continue reading
Slow dance and a wonderful Ana Popovic song.
Slow dance. Good Jazz, the good drink and drowning in the old memories. My old love dancing alone to the saddest Jazz and I told my whiskey. Pretty lady, I remember us. I… Continue reading
My father never cried or healed.
My father drank his rum and coke every night. As a child, I accepted his want to find peace in the rum. I would sit with him, and I saw in his eyes.… Continue reading
Bad love. And music by lovely Lindsey Stirling.
Bad love. I felt the darkness of the night overtaking the lights of the day. Stealing away the gentleness that is left in me. The once sweet memories had turn to a cancer.… Continue reading
You get, what you deserve.
You get, what you deserve. We steal, we borrow, we loan and we want more, we want less. Pretty feet, soft and tender legs I kissed softly, and I looked in her eyes.… Continue reading
The daylight fading.
The daylight fading. Once the kindest woman in Texas weaved me a safe place to be. Dearest Jayne used to hold me tightly and she sang songs of love to me late into… Continue reading
The waltz of the angels.
The waltz of the Angels. I told the barkeeper. Keep the long Island ice teas coming. Sunday morning is a coming. I need to be blinded by the morning. He gave me a… Continue reading