Blinded. But not dead yet.

December 10, 2012

A old poem written in 1993. The coastline and kind people of the California  made me find dreams and hope.

Blinded. But not dead yet.

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

Old poem. Same dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blinded. But not dead yet.

(Old poem from 6 July 1993. Must go to the bottom of the barrel to be
able to see the light. Now I see chances to do good things and be
a positive person. Children need their chance. Time for the quiet
one’s to speak their minds. Peace must begin somewhere. Even
if we do it one person at a time.)

 

 

I told the bartender.
” I don’t believe in God.
I don’t believe in the Devil.”

“But please pour me a another double shot of the tequila.
Maybe I will find one damn reason to be alive.”

In the paradise of the tequila.
Keeps me blind.
From what is surrounding my life.

A woman asked.
“Don’t you want success? Happiness?”

I asked her?
“‘ What is success?
A fine house?
A house full of toys?
Fancy cars?
A woman who love the conveniences?”

“Will those successes get me into paradise?”

I cut the lemon and limes into pieces.
Open a flesh bottle of the tequila.

I watched the waves.
Dancing on the Monterey shore.
My peace.
My reward for a life.
For fulfilling everyone dreams.
But my own.

The tequila.
After a time.
Blind you from your disappointments and sadness.

A fine escape for the great bloody dreamer.

In sweet dreams.
I had it all.
Held  my lover till the morning light.
Drank sweet red wine.
Shared tender and long kisses.
Tender love and emotion was all that was needed.

I stood tall and unafraid..
I was young in heart.
I was not afraid of mistakes.

Now the world filled with hate and war.
Seeing a world falling apart.
Now I try to blind my sad eyes.
From learning the truth.

I toast to better days.
Run down the beaches.
Yelling and screaming names.
Too long gone in a life.
In a life that had been stalemated.

The tequila finally bring peace and sleep.
Only peace for a man.
Buried in the rules of society.
Based on money.

I awoke.
Tire and sore.
Picks up my poetry book.
I begin to write.

For the children.
We must gather.
Pray together for a peaceful day.
Allow the misery and hate.
To fate away.
To a scary children fairy tale.

Fool’s wait for the end .

” Us dreamer must enter the game.
Must dance the dance.
Fight the good fight.
For the children of this world.”

Tell the leaders of the world.
Wars must end.
Hate and violence must stop.

If we don’t begin the new journey?

Will a million dead bodies change our ways?
A nuclear bomb drops on an area with a large population.
Show us the nightmare of war.
And foolishness.

Let pray for peace.
Let stand together for peace in the streets everywhere.
Demand a new world where all children are free to dream and live.

Old words are the same today as 19 years ago. I don’t drink the tequila
no more. I do see a scary world for my kids and my grandchildren.

Coyote
6 July 1993

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