The lone soldier still walks the battlefields of the past opening new wounds and old ones that never will heal for it seems that the ones that he is closest to are leaving him again. Like a dying man in the heat of battle if he survives all the best but if he dies so long old friend. I see you again in the next world. Times have been hard and long for him no one comes to see his faded photographs or listens to the story of his lost love. They don’t ask of his fate the people just rush past as if he is already dead and does not live on the hill. The flag of his fallen nation flies as a reminder of the past to the people of the future only the strong survive the war all others just fade away into the lime light and then into forever darkness.

A cross of stone will mark his grave in the forgotten resting-place of his forefathers the ones who died before him. Crows will shit on the cross that marks his forgotten grave but no one will come to clean it. No one remembers him alone in his dark tomb. People came to mark his death only as a sign of respect, a torn and tattered flag was folded on his coffin and placed in the hands of his only true friend and a bugler played taps and his friend wept a single tear and whispered Good Bye Old Friend Good Bye.

When trumpets fade there will be no more for it was the last good bye.

September 1^st 1998
 
 

The story above was written 4 years after I lost my friend. This page being written now on Feb 22^nd 1999 thanks to a friend who has given me the courage to go on. The night I wrote The Last Goodbye was intended for two people my parents. For I was to die that night by my own hand but destiny would not let me my cousin, Brent called to say he understood why. Brent is a true friend now brother and a light to help lead the way. He couldn't help in all ways because he didn’t know the full truth that my friend. Was more than just a great friend he was a soul mate and my love. God called my friend home no longer does he suffer the pains of life with a illness that does not have a cure. I lived 4 years with a broken heart but thanks to two friends my brother Brent and my friend Stephan I live to write this down on paper a last try to understand what happened that night so long ago. The reason for the story is longer than the story it self. So I will close now the event that stole the joy and youth of a boy who had lost and still does not understand why he was left standing when the other had fell.

Stephen Wallace Warrington

Bentonia, Mississippi

February 22^nd 1999

For there is hope in a dark world sometimes you must open your soul to find it. SWW