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The road was all mud
she slipped with the drizzle
and you couldn't tell
the color she wore
but her big awed eyes
colored the land in all colors
making her lose breath
gazing at every little thing
till over the noise of lightning
boomed her father's voice
be fast girl before the rain is harder
when she would run for his hand
and slip again and again
counting fun at every fall
her eyes a glowing island
from the mud scarred face.

Once in the market
the man gave her a good wash
little knowing she was drenched
with all the dreams
eyes could ever see.
 Jul 2018
Thomas P Owens Sr
a honey bee stung me
not because I disturbed the remnants of his hive
or stepped on the flower he sat upon
I watched puzzled as he struggled on the ground
after burying his sword in my arm
thus sacrificing himself
in honor of his brothers and his queen
you see
he was the last
he had no voice to tell me of their fate
the destruction we'd wrought
on this docile creature
this creator of sweet nectar

the sting was brief and I brushed it away
and continued on
as we all do when only temporarily impeded
unaware
the sting about to come
we have no idea
 Jul 2018
Birdcaller
every now and then
i see glimpses of them
and i can feel my soul
reaching out to

tiny fingers filtering sand
on long-distant shores

my mother's voice
in a tongue i do not speak

the heat on my face
as the sun finally rises

the pain of defeat
washed away by the tide

i long to know them once more
but perhaps one day
ill learn to be at peace
with lives i once lived
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