A warrior is only good for the battlefield. When not killing or healing his wounds he simply lives to die. Drinking, fucking, thirsting for endless combat, and sharing stories with those who understand. To walk upon the edge is to understand the frailty of life itself. Apart from that he dies long before his last breath. I understand the battle but I am useless without a fight. The grave is already dug its why death is not a fear just something I except and move on. When you know that which others simply read of in stories you can never explain the loss . The pain is something to haunt only your dreams and those nights that find you alone . I no longer live I simply exist and wait . Drinking to forget and wishing to know that thrill no one person can give me. My brothers who fell before me were the lucky ones . For they died in honor as I just waste away. When a fighter no longer has a reason to fight it’s simply a matter of time.
Just The Seagulls
I found myself burnt out as always alone on the beach . Why the hell was I drawn here I cannot say . Maybe I was a junkie for the pain maybe I just was unoriginal . And maybe it just reminded me of you . Either way I was here blown out of my socks as usual . The ocean is a force unto itself . It held many a man’s soul as once I held you . It wasn’t a game or a line it was my life and I was tired of giving my soul to get nothing in return . If I was paying dues then I must of had a hell of debt my friends . A blown out liver and bad heart always on the verge chasing a false promise stuck in the sand while others simply passed me by. I lost it all and gained shit in return keep your slaps on the back. Give me a paycheck and a corner booth let me die with my vices . But time is a cruel bitch. But no matter her intentions here I stood always hoping the sunset would find more than a closed door and a swift kick in the ass. The seagulls lived a second at a time on the verge of starvation . Waiting for the tide to bring the next meal. I questioned many things in this life . My direction was not amongst these questions. I watched the sunrise for free was the view. Cause you couldn’t tax nature’s beauty. When I left the beach i noticed a parking ticket on my windshield . The tide brought in many things and the asshole with a badge killed my buzz. Full circle was something I was beginning to understand . The seagulls thrived on nothing as I did the bottle . We all need something . I just needed enough to buy another bottle . Dreams are for the sleeping.
I always appreciated the innate charm of antiquity
in my own skins. I celebrated the joy of black and white being alternatives of hope and despair, colors are beautiful but they never intrigued me as if I was color blind . I always wondered why so much of vintage love in me? May be the conditioning between ancient souls that turned me into an ancient soul or the beauty of ancientness itself.
There is something special being an ancient soul, may be the promise of neoclassicism or the promise of beauty itself.
Ancient souls, too old to be weaved in poetry are throwback to the era where souls hankered to heal and blossomed like never before.
