I think about writing more than I write, but call myself a writer as opposed to a thinker.
Heaven opened up before the steeple. Fragments of grace appear upon the lawn. Shining in the hearts of all the people Who felt the silence when your soul moved on.
By Ashley Lima6 months ago in Poets
sweet amber honey, paint a portrait of your mother. watch it fade away.
gentle abscission self-righteous impermanence - tipping of the scale.
only a moment - stuck in slow-motion descent: the taste of freedom.
a total eclipse as the grass becomes covered; the yearly undress.
hear your voice in the wind as it grazes my cheek seen in the shadows on the walls every day this week felt in the mist as it falls from the sky
By Ashley Limaabout a year ago in Poets
take it or leave it - i won't apologize for being who i'm meant to be. built from cosmic energy - the stars aligned to make me, me.
brewing the coffee before they get out of bed. turning the light on - it's dark when work ends. a shoulder to cry on - doesn't matter when.
rotten sunfish washed up on the shore you'd think it bothersome, but i've been here once before i'll take an omen over a promise any day
mother earth is sinister. watching us destroy ourselves knowing she'll outlive us - bathing in the blood of sinners. but i wonder if she mourns the innocent
when the clock strikes midnight and the darkness overwhelms the masses, remember there is light where there is love and it will guide us home.
Almost 28 - made it halfway to safety. Can't give up now, but I'm losing it lately. Pausing on dreams cause these agents might hate me,
