Wild horses- Chapter twoA Chapter by Coyote PoetryA new chapter Wild horse- part two Johnnie ordered some more wine. He asked for some Ambrosia wine. The waitress smiled and she told him. Ambrosia wine. Very costly and delightful. He smiled and he told her. I want the ambrosia wine, tonight is a special occasion. We need the wine of the Gods. She laughed and she told them. Almost made for the Gods. Made in the valley of Italy in the wine country. Mixed with many fruits. A rare and tasty wine sir. He looked at Brigitte and he asked her. You remember when I came back from Africa. I was messed-up. I saw starvation, dead women and children. My unit had to clean-up a dead city. Some ruthless person poison the water. This memory still haunt my dreams. I saw dead cities in Africa and Asia. Me and God. We did disagree on this subject. I learn later. wasn't God. It was men will, to control all things. I learn in some countries. Life is meaningless. I learn free-will was given and for 5000 years, maybe more. The world had been bleeding. You never knew. You saved me Brigitte. When I return to Germany. I went to you. I remember you waiting for me at the train station. You took me home and you bathe me and you sang to me. You knew. I was beaten and confused. I remember you joined me in the small bath tub. I loved your body. Perfect curves and a man's dream, your gentle and beautiful face. We made love. After 10 years of friendship and many nights together. We bonded. You never marry and I never try to seek love. After you. No-one could make me know joy and happiness like you. She smiled and laughed at Johnnie words. she told him. I remember this day. This day became days and nights. I knew we were soul mates many moons ago. I meet you here in Florence yearly, hoping one day. We quit running and we stay together in Germany. He smiled and the ambrosia wine showed-up. After we drink the wine. I will ask you a question. Now I shall answer your question. I don't believe in heaven or hell. I have study religion for 50 years and I accepted my Native American belief. I hold closely. Us and nature are truly one. My Ojibwa blood make me know. We are just a part of earth. Men are like dandelions. Upon the earth for a short time. We will disperse into the wind and be forgotten one day. Better to live a good life. Ensure we enjoy each new day. I cannot answer the question properly. You know I speak in parable. Like a drunken man. He poured the Ambrosia wine. They touch glasses and he asked her. Can I have a question dear painter? She drank the sweet wine and she smiled. She whispered. Ask away. He asked her. What is important? Love, life or freedom? My final answer to your question is purgatory. Men who believe in nothing and they have done little damage to earth and life. I will join Mark Twain at Purgatory Inn. Play games of chess forever. I will listen to him and I will be waiting for you. Brigitte looked at the old city. Her and Johnnie had come here for 30 years and each time. Laugh and drank till they fell into the comfort of the hotel bed. She had loved him since the day she saw the sad eyes soldier. She remembered how she took the drink away from him in 1978. She told him. Johnnie, where you been? I have been looking for you. I will take care of you. Nine months, they shared a apartment. She held him like a child and he held her like a savior. He was the American Poet. She painted him yearly. His face had harden with time. Once joyful eyes had turn colder and more lonely. She knew. She was the only one. Who knew his heart and his mind. She smiled and she told him. I know you love the road, the poetry and the words over real life. I have accepted this. The answer to your question concern love, freedom and life. We will need more Ambrosia wine dear Johnnie. John Castellenas/Coyote © 2018 Coyote PoetryAuthor's Note
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John the Baptist 2.0
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2 Reviews Added on February 26, 2018 Last Updated on February 26, 2018 AuthorCoyote PoetryMIAboutA Poet and writer who love to read and write. My pleasure is reading about the bad and good in a life. Also to honor the Poets/Writers of the past by reading their words. Remember .. more..Writing
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