A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Some folks cannot be saved.
Always torn and never content.
Being a regular Joe was not so easy for him.
Whiskey and beer dreams.
Paradise blinded by dreams seen
at the bottom of an empty bottles.
We were raised like Brother’s.
He felt no peace in a normal flow of living.
Addiction of life are many.
Sex, Booze and money can bring us to
I pray for my Brother in living.
You found some sort of peace in death.
I wish I listen to you more.
I wish I try to understand why the booze
brought peace to your life.
Now I write wasted words.
I will pray you found peace finally.
16 Sept 2009
He told me don’t need to hear your shit.
He asked me are you content?
With your rules…
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