Papa's Cuba By John Patrick Robbins

I am that which I once feared the most.

The once bountiful fisherman.

Now just the sad old fool, who casts his lines to seemingly empty waters.

Others keep their distance, as if bad luck and creative drought were catching.

I no longer have my vices to blame. 

I only have the truth of my situation to scar my thoughts and saltwater to embrace my eyes.

Nothing is forever, especially a dreamer’s imagination. 

One day you awake and it's all fucking over.

I been wide awake for so long, I welcome Death like an old friend.

I believe when he arrives, I will pour one last drink and sit silent. 

You cannot beat the house or cheat that prick who will one day visit us all.

I acknowledge the Reaper. 

Just like I accept my words have escaped like a worn-out net that's no longer effective. 

So it sits amongst the clutter of things that sentimental fools often hold onto for no good reason aside from the fact it once was effective. 

We all have seen better days.

I don't want to watch the sunsets anymore, wishing only for that which we can never possess to return.

I don't want to be here, I just accept the fact I am.

I listen to the ocean’s waves crashing upon the shore. 

I recall memories that have become dreams that continuously remind me.

Nothing lasts forever.

Including those ill-fated dreams.

John Patrick Robbins, is a Southern Gothic writer his work has been published in.

Fixator Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Horror Sleaze Trash, Disturb The Universe, Piker Press and the Dope Fiend Daily.

His work is often dark and always unfiltered.