As river's gaze flashed
fire beneath its azure ice,
our spring never came.
How does it work?
Wow. Poignant and painful.
More stories from Amanda Johnson and writers in Poets and other communities.
Underneath that proud posture, far below Atlassian shoulders and the easy-going armor of an air sign, a soft spirit convalesces, simultaneously willing its wounds to heal while grieving their loss.
By Amanda Johnson 4 years ago in Poets
Sleepless nights bathed in the light of the droning TV, familiar music and memories, I travel back to 2015 in my mind. -
By Reece Beckett3 days ago in Poets
a million memories, azaleas, camellias, and dogwoods. Wisteria. fragments of who I was, who you thought I was, who you were, who I thought you were.
By Harper Lewis7 days ago in Poets
The glass of Absinthe sat before me. It’s quite amazing how despite such terror rendered upon their stones in the preceding decades, these streets still held the beauty I first read about as a girl. I never dreamed I’d set foot on these cobbles, at least not safely.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 days ago in Art
Comments (1)
Wow. Poignant and painful.