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Willard Wells Jun 2020
When I was about 8, living in St. Louis in a 4 family brownstone, I was sent to stay with Mom and Dad Ellis in Salem. One day some boys suggested we go down to the river which of course sounded like a fine idea. As we were walking along the river bank, we started being shot at by some other boys with BB guns. We ran in and next to the river to escape. Once I got back to the house I told mom Ellis what happened. It was at this point when she asked about my new shoes that I was wearing that were extremely wet. Busted. A few days later I was being put on the bus back to St. Louis when mom Ellis handed me an envelope to give my mother once I arrived home. Exiting the bus, my mother was waiting. I started crying and telling her I was sorry, as I again told the story of the wet shoes. I wanted to tell her before she read about it from mom Ellis. So much for honesty. Nothing in the letter about me, just an update on dad Ellis's health. Fears of a little boy.
Willard Wells Oct 2019
Waking to the light
Darkness follows near
Reach out to the light
Willard Wells Oct 2019
Darkness takes many forms,
Taking you to places so unknown.
Sometimes it’s hard to return,
As the darkness overtakes the mind.
The body follows closes behind,
Until there is no return.
The End.
Willard Wells Oct 2019
The pain controlled, yet my mind clouded.
Relief has its payment, for an active mind.
Slowed by the solutions, yet focused,
An odd clearness from behind the fog.

Craving sleep, yet not needed, or possible,
With the active mind of a crazed man.
So here I sit with my eyes on paper,
Looking for words to write to busy the mind.

Yet relieved the pain has lifted,
Hoping it’s the end, rather than just a break from the pain.
It comes, then goes for hours or days, sometimes weeks,
With little warning, just the pain.

In the end, even no pain,
The lingering numbness, from the drug,
Leaving the mind, clear within the fog, time passing by,
Wishing for sleep, that will not come.
Journey in the middle of the night as a ride the wave of the pain in my head. No need for pity as it is my life, the topic of conversations
Willard Wells Oct 2019
hear the drumbeat now

jazz, blues, rock and far beyond

ginger baker rocks
Willard Wells Sep 2019
Moving in the shadows
Searching for space
A place to lay my head
Perhaps a piece of bread.

new days come
Searching again for space
That I may lay my head
Perhaps a cup of coffee.

Night falls again as the day come to its end,
Looking close as my eyes go shut
So less fears as I awaken
In another homeless place.
Willard Wells Sep 2019
The depth of my mind grows dark
But ideas that create words come forth.
This tells me,
The time to write has arrived.
The pains of anguish
As my mind runs.
Looking for a comfortable space
To chill, To hide,
Waiting for this nightmare to pass
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