Freedom is the urge
That breaks out inside of us that makes us want to run.
An unseen Parkour of hands and feet.
Covering the threshold of walls and windows.
An key to an apartment
Of untold potential.
Seen as a window,
A causal gaze.
Things once seen as 3-D now seen 2-D.
Coming to the realization of just who we really are.
The desire of choosing to see things as brand new
A stillness of sorts.
A new brand of simple.
Holding on to a rail debating on whether or not to jump or hold on for a moment longer.
I.
The infinite compliment of the heart.
Choosing instead to run escaping,
The unfortunate pleasure of being chained in schizophrenia.
Gorillaz beating an untamed drum.
A constant pound, hands and feet becoming the ultimate form of expression.
The scuffle of feet over the sound of concrete.
Lost somewhere in the city.
Gorillaz beating an untamed drum.
Holy my thumbs are up.
Unpaused facial expressions, Revealing perhaps way too much.
A cup of cold noodles quietly waiting wholeheartedly.
Next to the gorillaz loudly stating otherwise.
Them.
The painkiller to an over twisted wrist,
Procrastination is a
Kewayne Wadley
 25000 3
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Gorillaz Lost In Boredom (Gorillaz tribute)
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life
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OTHER POEMS WRITTEN BY Kewayne Wadley
Ever Kissed A Frog?Have you ever kissed a frog Then almost instantly without regard To anything else felt the world around you grow, while at the same time get smaller? A liberation of tamed & written off dreams Come that much closer, No one to tell you how crazy you sound? Tell you how impossible that sounds? Without pause, walking out of the house In your head, without checking for a phone, Keys or wallet? To open your eyes to something wild breathing It’s way Into you? Without fear or shame, the need to check to see If anyone is watching? Your inner self alive and well, No longer sealed & hidden. A bruise finally healed. Ready to go out and see the world That much braver  |
Reserved For OneA woman sits on the train. Watching, waiting for something to happen. She rushes pass building after building lost in the sights. The world flying by her window seat. One track at a time. Fixed between one common place to another. She turns her head. A man reads the paper. Headline covered by the fold. Presidential debate. His hold is tight, side eyeing the woman beside him. Her round face. Randomly clicking on her phone. Bored. Social media sites. Candy crush. He views in full. The air is cool. Cool enough to put you to sleep. She wonders if anyone notices her. She yawns, lips printed on the reflection of buildings. She quickly looks away. The train passes. Overhead she sees a plane. Never has she flown. To see the sights above. Would the experience be the same. Travel size smile. Hand bag at rest. The train rushing faster and faster. The buildings now out of sight. The plane races on. She turns her head. Now she's asleep |
Such A Time (Sonnet)And if such a time comes. I ask for courage anew, happier eyes. To delve into sweet slumber without sigh. Time neither passes or retracts. And in addition I find the least bit bearable. Unable to drown in total sleep. The sights seen precious. I forget where I place my head. And I hold no grievance against thee. Heavily affectioned to many a sight. My eyes swallowed whole, At happiness's interpretation. Whilst I not forget, Sandman, I dream with open eyes |
Troubled WatersWe 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 |
Why She FliesAnd 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 |
Traffic In MemphisJust 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... |
Late BloomerMissing a glimpse of her Was just as bad as being late. My feeling flown all over the place. The punctuality of being at the exact place at the right time. Missing this glance everything falls out of place. The sudden challenge of tomorrow. Being on time, this moment left behind. Admittedly I hurried the next moment. To miss the same glance. My feelings all over the place. To think, flowers are never as late as they seem |
Payday (Ode To Langston Hughes)In the morning her eyes paint the cities horizon. Stretching and yawning. Getting dressed; Her blue tapestry. Opening the door to her apartment She climbs down broken stairs. It's payday Friday. The mail man is late again. Opening her box closing it right back. She considers direct deposit, Climbing back up those old creaks in the stairs. To a notice on the door. Excessive noise complaint Rent past due |
Participation Of PresenceWe've torn down buildings, and built new ones Yet we have no foundation. We are illiterate to what we truly feel and breathe unless, It is seen else where first. It too is a reality that we've created. This feeling that can only be described in Braille. We too are restricted. These bumps that go unnoticed. The mumps in the crevice we band aid until it's too late. We continue to tear down these fortresses of ourselves. What concerns most is that I see myself in you. The same love and laugh that become the building blocks that haults the storm. Yet we reject each other due to the mentality of our environment. With lack of understanding, We fail to embrace choosing the cause and effect of all differential. We seek to destroy forgetting what's important. We work against each other doing more damage that good. We need each other to further emancipation. To build one another once this storm reaches peak. As simple as it sounds it becomes more complex. To build a new... |
IllusionThen I realized my mistake. I searched the world not realizing that the world I longed existed inside of you. Wherefore I felt I needed some sort of permission. Some sort of console. Instead of accepting the card I knew hid face down in a deck of the same face cards. I manipulated the cards to what I knew best. The only thing I felt was real. The inevitable. I was the veil whom dangled in wait. The classic a-ha moment when all would be revealed. Not realizing that I myself was a part of the illusion. The one I kept at arms reach. A realm filled with room upon room of smoke and mirrors. Face down on top of a hat. Waiting for some sort of hand to reach down and pull me toward what I already knew. I was stuck in an illusion |