Category: short stories


grey-miles

I walk the gray miles

That lead me home

I have come so far, from so far

Marked, battered, and bruised by time

I stagger into the dimming light

And lay as still as an oak

My weary head on my mother’s lap

And listen to her rhythmic breathing

As she strokes my head and whispers

My son has come home.

 

 

 

 

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Night time

 

 

I hear them

In the gentle hours of the morning whispering

Write it now.

 

I say tomorrow, I promise, tomorrow.

They gather, clamoring, and shouting

Write it now! Write it now!

 

I say tomorrow, I promise, tomorrow

They push and shove, demanding me too …

Write it now! Write it now! Write it now!

 

I say tomorrow, I promise, tomorrow.

As the sun slowly replaces the moon in the sky, and dusk turns into day

They whisper triumphantly, today is tomorrow so…

Write it now!

 

 

 

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the writer

The writing process is brutal, but I love it.

 

Please check me out at : https://luciuswilson.wordpress.com/

 

the smiths

 

What is beauty anyway

Whatever it is, she certainly isn’t that

Interesting is how they described her face

Sharp jaw and high cheek boned

Eyes the color of melting caramel

Hair shades of light and dark brown

Windblown and tussled around her elfin face

She wasn’t beautiful, so they say

Not in the conventional way, anyway

It lay behind her narrow brown specks

Hidden behind her broad red smile

Between her light and dark moods

What is beauty anyway

Whatever it is, she certainly isn’t that.

 

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Illustration© All Rights Reserved 2016

Sunrise

 

 

 

Where they are

Is where I need to be

Where the sun shines gold and high

Above the rising sea

To a distant shore

Where dreams are not dreams

So far away

Among the shimmering gold

Of tomorrows light

For a little while

 

 

 

 

Text copyright©2015 by Lucius Wilson
Illustrations copyright© Lucius Wilson. All Rights Reserved.

 

My pen is my weapon

Words are my ammunition

Knowledge is my power

eye

 

 Rising memories fading with  light

 A stranger in tomorrow’s night

Thundering pain in my head

A wicked beast, so vicious and dead

The carnal glazes that covers me

What  tangled web of lust we weave

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Not Love

 

Tenderness Away

Was Innocence’s

An Idiots idea

 

 

 

 

 

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Illustration Copyright Reserved©2015

pouring wine

Fear of the pint

Lengthened by fear

The fury rattled loudly

On Old Taylor Road

 

 

 

 

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Silhouette_of_man_facing_left_no_4

 

 

The corn cob man

Strange and aloof

Was the misconception

To hide his contempt

 

 

 

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