You did not leave me my friend…
You did not leave me my friend.
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Some scars cannot heal. We learn to live with them.
You did not leave me my friend….
Old man sat alone. Whiskey and gin is his friend tonight. The V.A hospital pain killers don’t help him.
His fate cannot be opposed. Old war wounds given without notice is slowly killing his body.
The valor of war is broken now. The man sees only blood and death. He left for Vietnam. A prophet to save a broken people. He forfeit his dreams to swim in shit and blood. He raised his glass to friends left in the dirt of a lost war. He wished he had told his friends. Thank you for watching my back. He whispered. I will be joining you soon.
He sits in lonely places now. Waiting for the slow death to finish him off. In the blood of courage he left home in 1963.
Volunteered for war the USA said would save the world.
I sat with my friend. I ordered a double of Jack and a pint of cold beer. I looked at my friend. Once a 220 pound man with strength and hope. Now barely, a 100 pound man and can barely walk. He looked at me. He gave me a big Canadian smile and told me. You did not leave me my friend.
I hugged my old friend. I met him a few years back. Trying to drink myself to death. He told me. You don’t know nothing. You have a chance. Cancer ain’t killing you. Wake up.
I watched him drink the Jack Daniels. He told me. Jack Daniels hadn’t let me down yet. Pain ain’t too bad. Doctors told me soon I will be done.
My friend loved his Toronto Maple leafs. We watched many games. I go to the downtown tavern and watch hockey alone now. My friend died on a cold Winter day and found peace. I hope his brothers are waiting for a fellow Soldier.
Some wars outlast the battles. Some sickness eats at the body and soul. My friend never complained about the pain.
He told me if he had one wish. Would be to take the shit of war out of his head.
I drink the Jack Daniel and drink my cold Canadian beer. I can hear my friend voice. You did not leave me my friend.
Coyote
July 2012
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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Thank you my friend.
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“Some scars cannot heal. We learn to live with them.”
You are unclear about the purpose of scars. Scars are what’s left AFTER the healing is done. Scars do not have to heal. A scar SHOWS that the healing is DONE. Capice?
I have a scar on my knee from a fall I took when I was seven years old & I am now sixty-one years old. It’s so much a part of me that my knee would look strange without it.
Other than that, I like this poem. I drink Canadian beer, too. Labatt’s Blue.
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Just the scars of life, the scars of war. Agent orange killed many after the Vietnam war. Hello my friend and thank you for reading.
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