Andi Leigh Writes

Plastered walls of preservation, Keep the vexed outdoors away. A shelter for me, momentarily, In this fleeting fragile state. And when I’m up again and going, Better, in some time again— I’ll tear the walls down daringly And feel the sheer force of a pen, Swiftly gliding on some paper. Seemingly a little weak. Although ready for nearly anything, I no longer am so meek.

Driving down the longest road, Is a great gift on its own. The fresh air and scenery Makes the heart feel home. Wild acres of forest And a salty coastline. Soaring down the pavement, This all seems like it’s mine.

I do not worry too deeply About a picture not meant To place me. Instead, I can paint waves That brings what’s crystal clear To see.

I can take a hint When I need not to be around. I relish the passing sands Where I can disappear. There are plenty of other minutes, Seconds, when I will need to be. Until then I will love the inactivity.

A break worth loving. Clocks paused in stillness While static rides airwaves. Curiosity nestled and resting, For once, it stops its cry. Insurmountable joy Will not waver.

She will appear, knocking with bony knuckles, Singing darling murmurs, and enchanting those Tough as nails, forget me nots. But forgotten is all we’ll ever be. Adrift in her jasmine voice, her solace wings That cradle us as her own. And now we are owned, collected Like those before us. Like the strong-willed Who boasted about evading her. But meeting her is the last thing we’ll ever do.

Free me like butterfly wings. Send me on the wind gusts, Pulling toward the snowy peaks. Let the chill wake me up. And the winds can drop me Onto a path worth taking.

Visions of the end melt away During easy mornings of golden hour rain. And snippets of uncertainty burn up in sun rays. Quenched by the morning wind, And great clouds paint the blue canvas above. The end moves far with its facing storm. And once again, it’s kept at bay And I can move forward with limited clarity. But again, the storm will return stronger. So the hope of golden hour shine Must be prepared and ready. For we don’t need our ending reminder Until the very last moment.

Feeling the ground collapse beneath To where there is no light of day. A place where suffering will last, No way to climb back out unscathed. Skin pulled tight and hair torn out, Deep marks from one’s own fingertips. Done to self, while blinded so, Self-served punishment on a dish. Please see, just a bit, please open Your war-torn, sheepish eyes. And tell me that you understand, You know the truth, you recognize.

Look out across the treetops From the mountain peak, so high. A whirlwind sea of autumn hues Dotted sparingly with lush pine. Breathe in the air surrounding, Feel the popping in your ear. Lock the moment away safely, And come back again next year. Do you know if the forest— vast, Will remain the exact same way? Worry not because it won’t, The view will be as new as the day. A year from now, a year so long, The change will surely delight. Don’t fight, just breathe again You’ll be blessed with new sights.

Short-tempered tragedy, seeking, Ruin on the great plateau Of everything worth fighting for. Ready, waiting for the crumble. Though it can stumble And retrace its forlorn footpath On sands below back to the shadows. So the plateau of what was built And what will emerge, towers strong.

Rose gold epiphany. Symphonies, Through copper wire, dire transmission To the heart plenty tired Of the same old tune, jumping for the new Lovely track that instills fear in feeling At ease. How strange the tide turns, It simply burns a discussion in thought. Simply through the copper coils and fine-tuned whispered hymns That run laps around dreamy heads. Please do not let the broadcast end. Keep the airwaves full, delighted. No silence will gift peace of mind, Now a new fear settles, nesting in.

There was a sinking ship in her poor heart. And no form of mending could stop it. Damage control could not revive her. With once great sails, it sank further black. And there in its spot was nothing more Than bubbled blood, striving to remind her That the once grand vessel served her. No such thing was a possibility; Its sudden demise into faded inattention. It sank. No mending or manipulation Could let it fly through the heart again. But a raft was a meek option she held, And with the raft she’ll discover herself.

A whisper in my ear. A tickle on my cheek. The past laughs And plays its games. Although I am tired. Breathe in calm, Exhale screams. The past is giddy For it is unforgettable, Regrettably so. And there are sadly No more dustless spots On the display shelf. So it tends to follow And sometimes surprises.

Black water rising. Singing bubbled praise. Pressurized tears, Waiting to burst. Warning of the flood. Black water engulfing. Dining on brittle floorboards. Soon nothing Breathes above. 

Bleeding out by candlelight, I fight, squirm — hold firm. Bleed, oh no, plead, And count the time Between thunder and lightning, Feeling the singing, stinging Of the rain, rolling out In the degrading street. As the knife-wielder Damages, vanishes Through the welcoming Graveyard of upcoming time.

How can cruelness take Hold of every fiber? As a snake, bleeding venom. As the shrew, still beating heart. Not one concern in thoughts, Self at the center, others? Should they have time to drink? The snake may not think so. Choking life aside, Mere seconds left, and yet, Lengthy agony.

Feel it behind you. A creak on the floor. Although not seen in shadows, You know. It reaches to touch your shoulder, And lingers, watches, and waits in the corner. It sings to you during tense sleep. You just don’t hear a single night sound. But it loves you more than death. It knows, just knows, you feel the same. While it listens to you breathe. It’s there.

Free insecurities, Pick them off the shelf. Put them in a locket, And carry them around. Free deadly doubts, Pick them from your brain. Place them on a pedestal, Though you have none to gain.