Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Wings


Image: spDuchamp via Wylio
Moth wings stir beneath stage lights.
I was pulled in too
The heat against my
Skin was like that of summer days;
You were a fog that drove the ravens away.


I told you twice I'd learn to fly;
You cradled me closer,
As if my frame were
Comprised of glass and hollow things.
But on nights you left, I'd fly again.


Loving you was a pool of weakness,
Hiding your monsters
They almost killed me.
Now you're a fog, and I've grown my wings.
Should your monsters return, I've learned how to leave.


Copyright © 2015 by Ashley Williams

Thursday, April 16, 2015

The Sounds

Image: Leland Francisco via Wylio
I wonder if we hear them.
All of them.
You shrug off your work jacket
And turn off the light,
And that's okay, because you're human
And busy.

But they're busy too, clinging,
Without a work jacket
Because they're sleeping in sterile beds
Or on benches.
And that's not okay, because they're human
Like you.

It hurts, doesn't it? Getting close enough
To feel the prick
Of heartache that you caused yourself to feel
By being here.
Yes, you could leave and draw within yourself
And dream your pretty dreams.

And I wouldn't hate you, because hate
Has sharp teeth, and kills.
I know you're afraid of the sad songs
And new tears,
But water has a way of washing
Us clean again.

Since when is peace and quiet and thing
To be achieved?
You should know that heaven is loud.
My ears ring
From the sounds I no longer block,
But cherish.


Monday, February 23, 2015

Statue of a Soldier

Iron Mike from Flickr via Wylio
© 2011 Donald Lee Pardue, Flickr | CC-BY | via Wylio


I don’t know much
When I sit among the statues,
Hold my voice just as they do,
With a poise that can’t be touched.


What can I say
To the bronze that stand in silence?
Yet their eyes reveal a guidance
That belonged to yesterday.

 
Evening grows cold.
At once, your shadow brushes mine—
Your war-scarred past; my perfect life,
And all the stories you never told.

 
Tell me to stay.
Teach me love and pain and meaning—
Things not stored in rooms of reading—
So I can live the life you gave.


I cannot fill
The height and width of your shadow;
I promise I’ll be back, though,
To stand with you again.




Copyright © 2015 by Ashley Williams

Flickr