I think about writing more than I write, but call myself a writer as opposed to a thinker.
tapered wax aflame drips down the candlestick's side onto the next page
By Ashley Limaa day ago in Poets
fresh snowfall drifts down. muffled footsteps of creatures breathe life through the cold.
a taste of the clouds; soft in the palm of your hand. misty memories.
the whip-poor-will song reverberating forest, a moment of peace
a warm april day birds singing in the sunshine a kiss from the breeze
By Ashley Lima2 days ago in Poets
I beg you be persuaded that no one would be more zealous than myself to establish effectual barriers against the horrors of spiritual tyranny, and every species of religious persecution. - George Washington
By Ashley Lima18 days ago in Humans
Crisp leaves crackle underfoot, breaking the silence of dawn. Another day slipping past the hunter's wrath, and another battle to earn the prize.
By Ashley Lima4 months ago in Poets
Leaving water in a Mason jar set upon the windowsill during your full glow. Charging crystals in the night, absorbing power from your light,
To live forever; The ultimate goal. A fruitless venture framed by an ego only a writer knows. Recognition tastes hollow
By Ashley Lima5 months ago in Poets
a chill down the spine memories of lapsed judgment— unfair possession.
becoming a ghost— a haunting specter inside hallways of your mind.
There is an uneasy silence that takes place on country roads at night after the smashing of glass and screeching of tires.
By Ashley Lima5 months ago in Fiction
