The 3 am prayer


The 3 am prayer

 

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The dance hall closed down at 2 am in Belton, Texas. He would go to the Belton Lake, drink the Jack Daniel and howl at the moon. Maybe he was half crazy, maybe he descended to his self-made hell.

 

Dead brothers made me join a war to dance with death and kind death told me. Not yet dear Poet. The paradox of the running man escaping to no-where. Is one day, he shall find his silence. Be alone.

 

Crazy soldier sat alone singing on the sand to the Texas half-moon. It was hot as Hell and he walked into the warm lake. He laughed at the stars and he told them. Another foolish man doing the 3 am prayer. Praying for better days , praying for a better place to be. Praying for a lady, so damn gone.

 

The whiskey was losing the edge and he drank the bottle dried and he whispered. Men who dig their own graves, just lay in shallow places, never dying. Just living for war, drink and easy women.

 

Last year he went home and he learn. He became a stranger to who he was. Dear sister told him, the war killed his soul. He told her. Must have a soul, for the soul to be murdered. He called Jenny and she was kind to the traveling soldier. She had learned the coldness of life and she allowed him in the door and he knew. He was locked-out of her heart. Dear Jenny befriended him and they learned together.

 

“We die, we live.
we love, we hate,
We laugh, we cry.
We dance, we may sing.
In the end, we learn.
Old heart can’t be broken too often.
We shall become ghosts, forgotten and broke.”

 

He waited for the sun to rise and in the morning. Found some food and he tried to find some sleep. As the morning sun rose. He wrote some names into a journal. Maybe friends, maybe old lovers. Maybe just bloody ink for the writer’s heart. Maybe the temptation of new place, new faces and the drink. The Poet’s wealth.

Dancing Coyote