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Amanda Dec 2018
Loving this life
Didn’t choose it, feels random
Picked a different path last week
Right or wrong?
Going to deal with trouble and strife
Trying to get the correct arithmetic sum
That will add up. Will it make me feel weak
Or Strong?
Choices can be a chance or planned
But always leads to a spider web of sticky roads
An adventure of possible endings
Good or bad?
Striding through life’s shifting sand
You can’t head straight as a flight of crows
The journey is the beginning of wonderful chosen things
Choices made?
Kewayne Wadley Jun 2018
We left the safety of port.
Rising and falling
wave after wave.
The wind stung our face.
Abroad tensions rose.
Never seeing water the way we've seen.
Tossing and turning.
The ship slicing the strong current.
Together we hauled toward the anchor.
Spotting the largest wave we'd ever seen.
Hurling towards us with everything she had.
We set sail without guide.
This perhaps the worse storm yet.
We braced for impact.
Not prepared for what accompanied.
The boom crashed against the deck.
Our linen tossed everywhere.
We panicked,
steering best we could to no avail.
We succumbed to her fury.
Ready to face what may.
Our true destination found.
Seeking the sun after devastation
Kewayne Wadley May 2018
And like a bird
She flies away.
She sings her song in ultimate joy.
Her heart flutters.
Singing what comes to mind.
Soon as she is approached.
She flies away.
The wind beneath her arms.
She goes higher and higher.
Stopping in mid air,
Her arms tired & sore.
The life she deserves isn't far.
Gliding towards the horizon.
Soon as she finds peace.
It is easily disturbed.
Looking around to find the best place.
Seeking shelter she flies further.
Appearances aren't at all what they seem.
For this she is labeled and taken for granted.
Curiously placing one foot in front of the other.
Veering the opposite direction.
Her heart falling faster and faster.
They don't know her worth.
She flies higher and higher
Kewayne Wadley May 2018
Just jumping in.
Everything comes to a halt.
The first few moments don't seem as bad.
Depending on length.
The line of cars.
In a sea of metal
Something wow happens.
Metal crashes into metal.
Causally passing by.
Everyone is okay.
Making sure to see what happened
They drop speed.
The police attempt to make it through to the scene.
Little to no debris.
No never-mind to the expensive cars brought to a halt.
The Mercedes Benz, the Porsche out of place slow moving along.
A Black Nissan Sentra with two kids playing in the backseat.
The other side is free to go as they please.
Compared to most places this is nothing.
Try New York. Atlanta. Texas to name a few.
You just jump in, moving from point A to B.
Life is admittedly too short to walk a great distance.
A two car pileup a few miles ahead.
Bumper to bumper no one gives space to breathe.
A Cadillac honks in frustration.
The Black Nissan honks back in attempt to get over.
Inching closer to maneuver it's way in front.
After everyone takes a glance at the pileup.
Traffic is back to normal.
The two kids continue to play like nothings happened
Francie Lynch Apr 2018
Tantalize, tantalize,
Divert my eyes,
Say nothing, walk away,
Don't look back with running salt.
That's my lot in life.
My health and safety act.
Not a peripheral look,
Not a squint, no mirrors.
No looking back.
No regrets.
Kewayne Wadley Oct 2017
In the back of the
Bar, the spider sits in wait
The fly strips its clothes
Francie Lynch Jun 2017
You're appearance was a distraction,
From lonliness to satisfation.
That didn't work out so well.
Me alone.
Nor did that.
Would you be coming back, Penny?
In clear weather.
Move your hands to clear the cobweb haze?
Pose for new pics.
Talk about old times. Good times?
What would we do?

Camelots and forget-me-nots,
Oysters and chilled wine,
I don't know you.
You're not the same.
I know your name.
So, so long.
Way too long.
I speak to you,
Make small talk to greet you.
But it's wrong.
So very, very wrong.
You're the same.
You know my name.
The man who worried and laughed too,
Has gone. Dead.
Then rose up.
You're new.
Our paths are overgrown
With landmarks pointing
Where once was home.
Francie Lynch May 2017
An infant has no cares
For affairs of any state,
Outside its snotty, soiled, salty-eyed self.
It needs no By whose authority.

From a second passing glance,
The child recognized individuality,
Exerted some influence,
But succumbs to authority.

By the teens, there is control
Over the body; offers suggestions,
Some listen;
Builds a matrix,
Sits for ID,
Moves from table to table,
Much more careful of soiling.
The third glance confirms the leap

To twenty-one, a global adult
Of the **** Erectus.
Exposing clan colours,
Digging trenches, eating meat.
Soiled, salted and respected

At fifty, and recognizing the conflict,
The approach of incriminating retirement,
Visitors commenting on the lack of edges,
The smoothness of demeanor.
Late life arrived before relaxation,
And the falling off of directives.

Who wants to **** with you
And your remaining sanity.
By whose authority do they act.

I grow weary of worldly affairs
As infancy nears.
Kewayne Wadley Mar 2017
The pilot closed the door.
Taking a brief moment to look around.
Patting himself down opening the door then closing it back hesitantly.
He walked past the vacant seats, inviting himself to the copilot seat in the cockpit.
He leaned his head back, observing the silence that surrounded.
Staring off into the clouds.
His back seeped into comfort. Sliding down a bit further.
His knees touching the dashboard to the controls.
He searched the sky. The chair becoming a more enticing place to catch a Z or two.
The plane landed about half an hour ago.
Still he sat. Constantly opening then closing the door.
Feeling the breeze of air pass across his face.
Stretching his legs from being cramped in a tight compartment for so long.
Watching the other planes come and go.
The constant flicker of port side reflecting off his face.
How easy it seems to go home.
Continuing to nod off into a deep sleep.
Listening to the other planes sail off into the distance.
The luxury of dreams
Kewayne Wadley Feb 2017
In contemporary belief.
A archer went to a shaman for relief.
A answer to ease fear of thoughts.
Finding his way home, the trail of war became too much.
He struggled with the regret of building a life away from what he knew.
When he came to the shaman.
The shaman hung his head low.
Smelling the stinch of blood.
Still he could not turn his back to the archer.
When posed with the young archers question.
He sat puzzled. Summering the long winded statement to "a great change must be made. Else all will fade."
Knowing of the young archers longing for a maiden.
The archer looked puzzled.
Yet the shaman spoke nothing else.

The young archer was called upon.
A war broke on the opposing side.
They needed his skill in fear that survival was utmost.
Without time to think the archer grabbed his bow. His arrows and darted quickly in the direction the war has taken place.
He quickly coiled arrow to bow. In repeated motion until none were left.
A field of arrows covered the small space.
War does something to a man.
A brief clarity after the slaughter of contemplation.
The shamans words dawned upon him like a snake.
He darted to the shamans place in great discoverly.
Finding that the shaman as well as his possessions were completely gone without trace.
He darted back to the field.
Searching through a forrest of arrow.
A heart wrenching feeling stuck on his face.
Guiding his way through the arrows he found a familar hand. Connected to a familar torso.
A face stuck in agonizing eternity.
The shamans words made more sense.
Backing away from the body.
Thinking deeply. Damning his hands.
The thing that came as habit.
He broke his bow in the reflection of his maiden's eyes.
This war gone astray inside of him
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