‘Hold on tightly baby’
Hold on tightly baby
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Just words and a re-write.
Hold on tightly baby
You were the bloody storm my lover, you were my strawberry red-haired lady beauty on the Fifth street in Austin, Texas. For twenty dollars and a wrist band. You and I drank till we could not. Pretty hazel eyes woman asked me. Who are you? Are you a killer my soldier? Are you a dancer my love? Are you the devil my sweetie? Are you my cure or my ailment my wild man?
I brought her close and I whispered.
“I have been a hard drinker, I have been a dancer.
I have played the fool and I played the taker,
I have been the devil and I have been an angel,
I have known love and I have known hate,
I have harmed people and I have saved people.
I have danced with the devil often and I have found god.
I haven’t found peace yet and I don’t bleed no-more,
old regret and strong whiskey keep me grounded.”
She smiled and she kissed my neck. She whispered.
“Big storm a-coming,
there will time for peace and time for war,
There will be time for forgiveness and time for revenge,
Our world is built-on quicksand.
The Devil is laughing at men.
The dumb-asses leaders of our world loving hate and war,
you and I, we need to dance the midnight dance, pray to the moon for better days and kinder leaders.
Men have been born sick, Wanting war over peace.
hate over love.
Tonight me and you will hold on tightly baby.
We are just bystanders waiting for the deadly end.
Poor world will die without a sound, just a whisper.
Old world will have a silence death.
Let’s us drink and dance till we cannot no-more.
My sweetie. Our hearts can’t see the hope in the men of war.
Because men of war don’t seek peace”
I kissed her lips and I stood away from her, I looked at her. I loved her long black dress and bright red lips. I told her. You are right my sweet-heart. The night is long and the big storms are a-coming. Tonight you are my Texas hurricane and you and I. We will ride out the storms and maybe. Maybe we will rebirth with the morning sun. Maybe the dead can know some kind of hope?