My small books of thoughts


My small books of thoughts

A Poem by Coyote Poetry


Just words.


                           My small books of thoughts

What will I leave? Have I lived a complete life? A life filled with days of joy and happiness.
Did I leave healthy soil where I stood and lived? Or did I pollute and left the healthy soil more bloody
and deader?


Myth or tale? I don’t know the answers to war. I went to war to learn and understand the hate and violence.
I learned contempt for contractors of war and leaders with lobbyist money and profit as their goal. Not human life as their concern.


My Father took me to the airport. I was leaving for the Iraq war in 1991. He served in the Korean war and the Vietnam war. He had tears in his eyes when he told me.Don’t die my son.Please come home, safe and sound. I have lost too many good friends to war.


Wife of twenty years. Looked sadly at me. I have turned cold like my father did. Bloody wars have caught-up with me. I write graveyard poetry now. Poor wife is waiting for a surge of what I was. I buried myself with concrete walls and my mind became a mad carousel of trying to understand what I became.

The landscape of the Forest and the great lakes. Profound places for me to find my spirit of hope again. I burned the sage and asked the Great Spirit. Forgive me for what I have done. Please heal the people I have left behind. I don’t know the face in the mirror. When the mind and heart become blacken. Need kind nature to show us. Things will live and things will die. You will twist and change like the wind. Nothing is written in concrete till you become part of the good earth. Once again.

The shadows have stole my dreams. I don’t see the future with the gleam and hope of days past. I’m exile in some sort of madness. I have learn we are the master or the slaves. A asylum infested with lost souls. I have accepted my madness and I have accepted the shadows. I shall keep them at-bay.

I have traces of regret. I believe life is fair. Hard not to offend people and repress anger. We are damn to become foolish and betray the people who loved us. We are led by presumptuous acts and harshness of wrong words. We damn ourselves to the purgatory of the foolish and lonely ending.

What legacy will I leave? Did I reach the threshold of sadness and joy? Did I dance and sing enough? Did I love enough? Did I learn to know forgiveness? Today I have grandchildren with me. They are the fresh soil of life. The rebirth of hope.  Every child need to know hope and possibility.

War had taught me. Please, do not kill.  We send our strongest and brightest to learn war and death. Leaders do not know their names. They know numbers. Death counts, cost and contractors. Old Soldiers know. Heal, not kill.
Blood demands more blood. Sad part is. The mad dogs must be killed. Good men will fight and die for freedom and human life.  No peace in the coming Winter.

Strong men must protect the weak and the unprotected. The sheep need to be protected from the wolves. The old soldier watches as new wars are being born. He knows war and violence touches everyone in some way. He burned the sage and he prayed for peace. One planet and one people. Room for all people.Heal. not kill. Please lord of life and death. Please bring peace to the dying world.

I’m tire of war.

Coyote/John Castellenas