A poem about: Perfumed and smoky She swears that she…

Perfumed and smoky She swears that she knows me She's falling down drunk again I say she's mistaken She's visibly shaken Emotions all drowned in gin She said I used to be beautiful But now it's all gone I let my dreams slip away from me That's where it went wrong Go be young, go be free Follow your heart where it leads you Don't end up like me The Indian in the guardhouse used to spin me yarns Stories of canyons and Boston in winter And losing his family's farms He said I've outlived my three sons, they died in three wars I laughed and I cried while they lived and they died And I know that they deserve more Go be young, go be free Follow your heart where it leads you Don't end up like me Perfumed and smoky I'm falling down drunk again I say she's mistaken She's visibly shaken Emotions all drowned in gin I say I used to be powerful But now it's all gone I let my dreams take control of me That's where it went wrong Go be young, go be free Follow your heart where it leads you Don't end up like me

Perfumed whispers cloud the air,
In smoky bars where truths ensnare,
She swears she knows me, swaying slow,
As gin-soaked tears begin to flow.

"I used to shine, a beauty dear,
But dreams slipped through, year after year."
Spoken in shadows of bourbon's gleam,
In haunting echoes of what might've been.

The Indian in the guardhouse sings,
Of Boston snow and canyon kings,
His stories weave of bygone days,
Where family farms ignited the blaze.

"I outlived sons lost to fate,
In wars that love could never sate."
A laugh, a cry, beneath the stars,
As memories dance in life's memoirs.

Go be young, and find your wings,
Follow the heart where promise sings,
For in these tales of might-have-been,
Lies the path to where dreams begin.

Perfumed ghosts and smoky sighs,
In this bar where the truth defies,
"Power was mine, yet slipped away,
I let my heart's dreams lead astray."

Go be young, and seize the spark,
In morning light or shadowed dark,
Let this be wisdom's whispered plea—
"Become what I could never be."

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Perfumed whispers cloud the air, In smoky bars where truths ensnare, She swears she knows me, swaying slow, As gin-soaked tears begin to flow. "I used to shine, a beauty dear, But dreams slipped through, year after year." Spoken in shadows of bourbon's gleam, In haunting echoes of what might've been. The Indian in the guardhouse sings, Of Boston snow and canyon kings, His stories weave of bygone days, Where family farms ignited the blaze. "I outlived sons lost to fate, In wars that love could never sate." A laugh, a cry, beneath the stars, As memories dance in life's memoirs. Go be young, and find your wings, Follow the heart where promise sings, For in these tales of might-have-been, Lies the path to where dreams begin. Perfumed ghosts and smoky sighs, In this bar where the truth defies, "Power was mine, yet slipped away, I let my heart's dreams lead astray." Go be young, and seize the spark, In morning light or shadowed dark, Let this be wisdom's whispered plea— "Become what I could never be."