Like father





beulah and john
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Killed and killed

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

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A true and sad story of the permanent wounds of war.

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Killed and killed
On Friday night my father drank his rum. He would come and wake me up late in the night.I watched him and listen to his war stories.He would start calling out to lost friends.I would sit and pity him for his great pain.
.He drank every night to try to hide the burden. He told me. ” I enlisted son, I don’t know why for Korea and stay a second tour.The blood infested my soul. I killed and killed. I watched my friends die.”He would sit alone and talk to ghost of men left in un-marked graves.I would carry him to bed.
He would whisper ” they are not coming home.”My father had no fear.
He was a hard and cold man who loved laughter and woman.
God, those memories drove him crazy.When he quit drinking he never talks of war.He told me ‘ no-one cares about his time in the war.

He was another crazy Indian man killing for the USA.

Ain’t no rewards now or then.”

My father held all his Army decoration with great pride.

He was proud to defend his country.

He said ” I know soldiers must fight to keep us free.”

My father died a young man of 61 years old.

The old Soldiers came and gave him a 21 gun salute.

I wonder would he trade the nightmares and the blood on his hands to be clean of a war never won.

                       COYOTE

                     1998

Like father.

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

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Blood of father flowed in my vein and I can see his face.

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                                      Like father.I look in the mirror.
What do I see?Have I become what I despised all my life?
I have my father’s eyes.
Now I know my father’s pain.
Have my eyes become cold?
Is violence and anger my strength?Each day I learned loss.
Loss of dreams and desires.
Kindness and gentleness forgotten.I follow my father’s path to war.
I did what he had done.
Now I talk to dead friends lost to war in a self-made hell.Will I become like my father?
Showing passion and emotion when I’m in violence or aroused.Can I stop my journey to adulthood?
Can I find the path to gentleness and love?Have I traveled too far?
Is the blood too strong?
Am I destined to hurt everyone I have loved?My father’s hatred.
Is it my anger too?Am I free to choose my journey?If I choose my own road.
Why did I follow my father sadness.Coyote10543621_772fa242426170755_5982604147327331583_n020_20

© 2013 Coyote Poetry