From my beginning it was understood that I was to need,

And not to be needed!

It was as crystal clear as the evening tides ebb,

Then flow.

As certain as tomorrows dawn,

And winters cold winds blow.


I’d been told,

I’d been showed,

I’d been beaten into believing.

Then my spirit was gone.


“You’re nothing in this life,”

 The winds would howl and scream,

“From early morning, into nights darkness and then throughout each day,

Without this father standing here,

Be it twilight or in God’s dawn,

In morrow’s morn unforeseen,

Or worlds still yet to come,

You’ll always fall and fail alone,

Then cry for me,

My son.


You see now boy,

I’m salvation,

I’m morning, night,

Your heaven and hell.

Not a pot you’ll have to pee in boy,

Nor window wide,

Or low enough,

To throw, your stinking pail.”


And then he’d speak, in a quieter manner,

So deep within your eyes he’d stare,

And say these words, of which I hear, each and every day.


“Maybe I should just end this now,

Today, I might just take that leap.”


A shout and threat,

Then a cigarette,

Lighting the evening night crimson,

The smoke in mist, aroma cast,

Darkened shadows slowly pass,

Above small spirits left unknown,

As fear from days, long, lost and hidden,

Turn childhood hearts from bright burning lights,

Into hungry,


Love starved souls.


“A long drive down the short west bridge,

 To waters deep and dark”, he’d say

“Or maybe a simple temple shot

You’ll find me laid out cold,

And when I’m gone, you’ll suffer boy,

 You’ll suffer throughout each dawn,

 And day.

Always in wonder with thoughts obsessed,

 Of what it was you’d done,

To cause this father who you’d loved,

 To end his life this way”.

DON'T WAIT! ONLY 5 OF 50 SEATS LEFT! It's not a virtual event. It's not a conference. It's not a seminar, a meeting, or a symposium. It's not about attracting a big crowd. It's not about making a profit, but rather about making a real difference. LEARN MORE HERE

Johnny Johnston
Johnny Johnstonhttp://www.blufengr-art.com/
An artist/writer as well as graduate of the University of South Carolina with degrees in journalism/20th Century American Literature, and retired senior executive of several international hotel/resort corporations, Johnny is the product of the south having been raised in the ever-changing transient lifestyle of a Carolina coastal resort. A point where he discovered, within his 300-year-old heritage and the world's dramatic social/cultural shifts during the late '60s to early 80’s an ambitious hunger and overwhelming curiosity to touch, see and become a participant in the virtually unlimited possibilities offered to those who wish for and seek life experiences. A journey which when hearing its details initially makes one a bit skeptical, questioning its validity as it is hard to imagine that incidents such as these may have crossed one man’s lifetime. This is the fodder required to step into zones exposing one's personal inner self, which many of his paintings and the words he writes do, openly. An ability to see and hear the tragic, beautiful, accomplished, exciting journey in a life free of inhibitions allowing others the opportunity to live vicariously and become, through his works, a part of its future. His larger works which have been featured in several Colorado and Fredericksburg Texas galleries and resorts have produced a number of collectors and fans. However, over the years, his paintings are mostly viewed by friends, enthusiastic new artist encountered on the streets or a small number of acquaintances he meets when dining in local cafés with his wife.


  1. Tears my friend, my friend who is kind and loving, friend who after 40 years reconnected to write amazing stories and help create a place where others share there stories. You are a kind and gentle soul my friend and I hurt with you for The darkness in our lives. We created a place where it is safe to share our stories and know that it is also a safe place for you. I can’t heal the pain but know that on the Dirt Road you are loved and I am blessed to call you friend.