'Dying in the Nearby Battle of 1869

The Old Soldier Reincarnate.......


Dear Byron the funny as shit fucker......          
Stood in the Pioneers Cemetery looking at his own grave stone, it was made of sandstone it was old and eroding the  thin layers falling off only parts were barely legible any longer..... it was a beautiful day..... green grass, blue sky... crisp air....a lovely Ohio morning........

He was in one of the Lucky graveyards ... the grass was green it had a white picket fence around it and was manicured even..  they ran a weed eater contraption around his stone, it was Spring........ he knew the cold gray dreary winter would come again and chill him... Brrrrrrr .  He thought... about throwing a log in the old wooden cabins fireplace... how he longed for soooo long ago......... and the flesh....... especially hers...
stuffing her like a holiday turkey, one of his favorite things always... she did not seem to mind either.

Byron remember being full of youth and raging........ in anger at his superior officers for he knew he was right and they mistaken.

Besides now in reflection he realized how many more incidents of battles over Sovereignty he had been engaged in..  always over whose land it was... or who's rights......... engineered affairs...  cock suckers rotting in hell...  that  carried away  the gold off  in their saddle bags...  he knew alright , But engaged out of Duty...

The atrocities he had engaged in...  who were they to tell him anything? Now or ever more?

He remembered being so angry for being right ...  why he was melting like the red hot molten metal.....
He was exploding.......... in his addiction........ He fucking liked it , that was the sickness.

Byron could fly that motor a million ways... it was his job in WW 2  to mandate the controls... Byron could fly and cut those invisible ribbons in the sky.. better then anybody, he was air king, he loved those immelman's then strafing the top side of the dirty bastards... got em good... down they they went... to smoldering masses.......... He was so high he went ape shit screaming at the top of his lungs and banging his fist's until they split and bled.

He was remembering Ms. Memory Jean as he stood over his now  listing  stone marker looking... she was from England you know... and what a beauty...  she was dictating  while he screamed his reasoning out and was the only one that understood his understanding of the truth....... mostly.

He was screaming his head off at his superior officers....  Fools...... you will die for it and they did.
She took note, later stepping over their body's.




What War!  What battle in 1869?    'The tainted stuff in my heart of 1869'  That's what douche bag!  Byron had thought the day before, don't you remember? he questioned of himself... of course I do....  you can't hide the lie to yourself, dumb shit....... he laughed out loud to himself...... and went and took a piss talking over his shoulder while doing so.

Rage and Anger inside him and being alone....... now....... where was his respect now? He heard no marching band no Taps..........

He knew that motor inside and out and it fit together only   'Just So' and he knew it...  Damn It!

He remembered the  U.S.S. Main  boiler explosion in Havana too... oh yes..... he was there, and many others... he was a warrior... later turned Pacifist........ just stay the fuck out of his yard... or he would untie the string and come out blasting... The Quaker Oats Man....

The English girl he later married...  she understood how the screw alignment  went, plus she was so hot.. and all that Big Band Era music like Glenn Miller playing he got swept up and so did she on a white stallion... as he held together all the moving pieces pieces  with his two hands  waiting for the armature to fall correctly into the brass bushing....  he waited patiently for the order to pull the trigger on the Dictator in that Communist Island..  The order was never given...  he left Byron's scope cross hairs.. sat down and smoked a cigar and had a shot of rum, not a bad idea he thought.

As his  knees hurt.. he was getting old....

Byron was Top Gun... an ace... where do you think his name came from.. an Accident? No it was his maneuvers.......... that made him Ace.....

Think Man........ Byron lived with the Officers  in their quarters with his Anger Addiction.......... He knew Patton the Prick ......... a prime player on the Chess Board of that war...... he called him Car Wreck.. what a way to go he mused.

He awoke and looked over into his journals pages... they were blank...  for he must of burned them in one of the wars... before or after 1869....... he remembered thinking  save them.... what the hell for?  Pass me a match he lit the diary journal and let it  burn right on the night stand... the warmth of the fire actually felt good on that crisp morning, you can still see the soot  marks... its an antique now ... nobody knows what happened.... they market the burn marks as character when selling...

Byron The reincarnate was glad within himself as he walked around his Cemetery home...  now a wisp...  the grounds keepers trailer that sat next door... just outside the fence... was  painted blue, how pretty... was it a two bedroom    8'x40'  or one?  it was old for its time.. but  appeared to be maintained....

He looked around ... he could understand the non fighters now ... the peace keepers..   as he remembered having tea with the Miami tribe Indians after they measured his boys foot and made his son a pair of  moccasins as a gesture of friendship.. some friends we turned out to be he thought... that sucked a big wet one........ they even came over to dinner and sat at the table with him and his wife he remembers the bands of silver they wore just below and above their elbows.... and how polite they were..  generous .........

Out You Go..........off to Oklahoma ...... or where ever that was they sent you.

The last of them ... prior to their being herded West...... they left their land and fire pits for the deserving white man... how thoughtful....

He grew sick of his battles you know.. as he looked across the fields at his Quaker  'Friends'  perhaps he had let them down... he understood better now their sentiments............ a couple of hundred years later.

He got the gist of it now....conscientious objection to  all the blood shed... sticking the knife in the lambs neck and watching it bleed out... It  did disgust him, though he had done it.......

The Confederates Slaughtered the Union.... in that one battle that had occurred nearby.. he remembered that one too...  he nearly got it there... a near miss... ping right my his head and into the tree bark.

Later he helped the black folk sneak up North.. but wondered if it wasn't actually a trick of the bankers to obtain inexpensive labor.... free to starve, being  shuffled from one Master to yet another under the guise of freedom...   you go girl..........

Many battles lost and won on both sides...... but mainly he remembers his rage...... his anger...

War is tricky to say the least ... in all its  flag waving Glory and Guts.......

As he loomed over his own grave... looking watching thinking............ as the sand stone fell apart pieces hitting the dank ground....

Byron could barely make the epitaph out ... something about  living a just reward and   being such a great guy and all.........  a wonderful man... he laughed as he ran his cold fingers  along the lettering..

Where was his next battle to be won? Who would Cash in?


and then  remembering  his own......    'Dying in the nearby battle of 1869.........'