Andi Leigh Writes

People bustling, Not stopping To heal under cascading skys. Hungry for more than They need. Unsatisfied, Impatient for dusk When daybreak hits. Letting surroundings, The little things, Fall between the cracks Forgotten. Missing out, tossed about The ladder climb— When breaks are a must. Living slow and trust In the process. Something not on The mind.

Flatlined moment At ocean's core. Where seafoam Breathes the clouds. Heart full from Saltwater songs. The vastness sways Like outer space, Where loneliness Flourishes and floats.

The stars cry out, Die about— Yet we linger, Wonder— Pining for answers That will never be. And after we go, We hope That our light still shines.

Could it be so soon? Whispers emerge within Lurking clouds, Ready like lighting, Striking down All the fresh possibilities. Sensibilities rained upon— Dreams now gone, Devoured by storm clouds Not fit for young Imagination. It's time to grow up, glow up. No contemplation, Head down And fasten your wits. Don't mind the hits That child-like wonder takes— It breaks, marking the storm drains With growing pains. We age, engulfed in vain To please others, while we Shudder At the thought of being Ourselves.

I taste the acid lullabies With sour intention— As they search for a tune Capable of melting me To lemonade; Palatable to the masses. Although, Salt may overwhelm And I have plenty hidden.

A swirl of misguided flair Is all it takes To be set on a branching path. One that breaks and winds, Taking a piece of you down Each thinning stream. And with realization, Gathering the pieces lost Is time spent scattered. And coming back together May save your precious days.

Will the mineral water Heal the splits in my soul? Will the soaking herbs Allow peace with the past? Or will the sweetly-pink salts Cleanse the wounds of Self-deprecation? At least a little presence Appears for a short while.

Woken up At witching hour, Familiars purring quaint. Urging the time spent With written word, Accompanied by birdsong. From mind through ink, Thoughts flourish on Crinkled sheets— A garden grown from Sleepless minutes, But worth the rising sun.

Terracotta tiles And lavender sachets. Dandelion greens With drying roots for tea. Black chanterelles plucked, Patient for simmered both. Wispy candlelight flickers Over inked cream pages. Bustling serenity With rainy view, trickling, Opposite the open window.

River tears drown To worlds opaque. Tricking veins Of hearts awake. Eyes are open, Chance is cast. Mistakes relived From aching past. River tears drown, Pain no more new Than what hurt before— A simple breakthrough.

There's an emptiness inside, A guide, Ushering me astray. And here it reels, It surely feels That I, myself, Have not a say. There are decisions To be made, To play, Out there in such a way. But I am locked Behind walls, predetermined. Blinking Into the next day.

Mushroom hunters gather In the brutal summer. Foraging fruits of plenty Against the melting sun. And with harvest worth the burn, A feast flavorful awaits. The earth renewed For the next flush To delight seeking eyes.