Poems from Ayana Woodard
Flinting fire fairies fly
As the dance of the phoenix burns inside
And as that scorching heat burns eagerly
Golden yellows, ruby reds, grow...
As the moon swells from still waters below
The sky turns a dark indigo
Yet another calm night has granted us rest
And blest are those who...
Lively, smiling I once use to be,
Before a thing hit me called reality
What was that? You don’t like what you see?
That’s alright, I’ll...