There was greyness in your eyes, grey like things that are old, grey like the hair that hung limp and stringy to your shoulders. Grey that prevented the world from touching you, or you from touching it. Scary or maybe sad. Once, in another time, you were a person with people. Now you just keep… Continue reading The Grey Man
Author: W.H. (Wade) Johnson
Novelist, author of the Ancestors series of books (and many other things), husband, father, grandfather, amateur genealogist, shamelessly bad fair-weather golfer, retired IT professional and traveler in time.
The Spiderman Sonnet
Do not cry ‘hideous', at my sagging eyes that expose my genius against all others. Criticize and doubt, but I tell no lies as I fawn and preen and eat my brothers. My orange armor, so beautiful to see, shields my nervous flesh from words. I’ll be your flimflam until I flee to my magic… Continue reading The Spiderman Sonnet
I Speak
I speak but there is no sound. You cannot see me on the page. We are lost as if we had never been here, as if we never knew one another. I see but there is only blurred illusion from that other place, where the other life, so real, exists and then is gone. I… Continue reading I Speak
See Me Now
I walk in the black sand as the volcano sleeps. My passing is marked by footprints pressed into time. I am there and then the ocean washes me away. The world is my home, you are my child. Together we are made from the stuff of dreams. Born from spark, before the sun, before time.… Continue reading See Me Now
Rusty Bones
Imagine my rusty bones scattered in the dust, drying under the red fire of the sun, your eyes so pale they are almost white. You and me; life, dice loaded from the start; birth, scrounging for change, scraping, when it was then. I will love you until I die; you and me meandering through the… Continue reading Rusty Bones
