A letter..

(In Germany 1978)

A letter

Sometime cigarettes, good booze and a pen can give a man a reason to be alive.

When we parachute blind into love.
Even a renegade spirit can be broken.
I tried to hide my misery in good cognac and Germany wine.
I allowed myself to fall into a delusional state where I didn’t give a shit
about anything.

In the belligerent belief of alcohol state.
Foolish men believe they can forget beautiful faces
and destroy good memories.

I wished I could tear apart my mind and heart.
Closing the wounds with the fire of hate.

The paradox of life is fair.
Memories will rebirth and allow the cuts to bleed again.
I can hurt myself with pity and still be left in the waste of things lost
and never to be found again.

I found myself alone on a lonely hill in the field of early Spring wild flowers.
Holding my good cognac  and swimming in insanity and wild thoughts.
I opened a letter from a friend of many years.

She wrote of love. She wrote of how she needed me back home in  Michigan.
She wrote she loved me for many years. She wrote she knew I was coming home soon.
She wanted us to meet.

I put the cognac down. Left the field of wild flowers.
I knew the words were just sweet whispers of dreams and possibilities of love.

I whispered sweet Julie.
“Are the words just more cuts  to a broken heart or a savior to stop a man
from committing self suicide?”

I found peace and hope in her sweet words.
I dreamed  my kind friend was waiting to heal a broken man.
Sweet Julie somehow knew I was lost.

Only new love and hope can heal the pain of a broken heart.
Pain can be released only with tender touches of love and kind words.

I still had my pen and paper to keep me sane.
I wrote.

“Love can lead you to paradise and hell.
We must join the dance to know pleasure and misery.”