Early moon.
Drifting across the lonely afternoon.
Spirit turning with the wheels, thinking of feelings.

Here again my friend, is the soul.
Locked inside your eyes, fire glow.
Strange, strange times its hard to know what’s real.
You know what I feel.

All the nights, of restless eyes.
Wander together, wearing night skies.
Singing to the moon, run to the hills.
Sitting with feelings.

Watching from the wings, strange that things are dying.
Merriment at hand, don’t deafen long.
Warm soft hand and gentle welcomes, real.
Maybe I’ll feel…

Walk out through the mulled birds
Breaking their silenced thoughts, for the last word.
Got carried away over the fields, for feels.


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Wade Lancaster

I could tell you more about me. However, I think you will find us far more interesting, if we share more about ourselves. What do you say?

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