Ancient floors


Ancient floors
A Poem by Coyote Poetry

Ancient floors

In the mirrors of time.
Old windows may never be closed.

Surging memories and regret leave us wishing we were kinder and better.
The broken roads leave me spiraling in the memories of kind and beautiful faces.

Faces who words are tattoos on my mind and heart.
Easy to languish in stagnant thoughts when peace is cold beer, lust and waiting for mercy.

No mercy for men who played the bastard too damn well.
Men who live with graveyard poetry.
That lead to no-where but to dirt and dust.
Their words become more worthless with time.
No sweet lullaby can save them.

Vintage memories of sweet whispers leave a morbid reminder.
Of broken roads and promises.
Old man sit on the solitude of the sand.
Watching the sea.

Knowing no forgiveness or charity for a man who left a blood trail of kind and loving people.
The bells are ringing in the distance.
They are ringing the bells to announce. There is forgiveness even for the men drowning
in sin and his own greed.

I try to escape the song of bells.
Run to the hills where I can find silence and calm.
Fall into the field of lilies and violets.
I’m weary from a journey with no ending.

I look to the sky.
Asked the Goddess of the Earth.
To show me the place I need to be.

Tire and mad as hell.
I walk ancient floors.
Trying to find the place I turn berserker to love and kindness.

I go toward the ringing bells.
I walk to the statue in the center of the church court.
A man reaching to a child.
The words read. ” No greater gift then reaching down to a child and giving them hope and strength.”

It is a beautiful day today.
The sun is shining.
I can smell the coffee in the distance.
The old street Poet will drink coffee and write a lullaby about a man who wasted all things.

He awoke alone to find out. No person want to die alone.
Come a time.
When you cannot run any more.

A man must learn to cherish friendship and love. A man who served self only: booze and woman:
War and government will be forgotten and leave nothing but a lonely grave.

Coyote
2012

© 2012 Coyote Poetry