audrey-frost
Audrey Frost is a writer, poet, and blogger from Baltimore, MD. She is working towards her bachelor's degree in Psychology from Southern New Hampshire University. When she’s not traipsing through dream lands far and wide, she is at home in her lair perfecting her craft. You can visit her at darkeyedchild.wordpress.com.
Tears fall, rain on
a dry day during
an Indian Summer.
Sun soaked and moon
drenched. Eye see.
Sighs slip, a warm
breeze bends the
willow and her wildflower
friends. I speak.
Hands touch, water
split by unwavering rocks
a fork forms. I feel.
Feet move, warm sand
marred by tidepools. I walk.
This body is a strange thing.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
“Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees,”
Billie Holiday sang in 1939.
Those bodies don’t swing no more,
no, they lay in the streets for hours in the hot sun.
Moses said let my people go, now we say,
let my people live.
Dr. King prayed for a day when this would
all end, but here we are still fighting.
Peaceful as a dove, we marched and scream
until our lungs give out, but to no avail, we still die.
A time of peace may come, but rainbows only
appear after the rain; this storm isn’t over yet.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
There’s this weight on
your soul and it brings
out the worst in you.
The more you go
against it all the closer you
come to imitating it. So
individual and yet so alike.
Force fed ideas of hope
and life eternal, so ingrained.
We are immortal through
mementos on screens
wrapped in webs and data.
Hollow bowls feed empty
souls strung out on fantasy.
Vanity, it’s in your veins.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
Big open spaces, big open spaces.
This chant spills from taut lips
hanging on constrained breath.
It’s not real, it’s not real.
This chant sends hands to cover eyes
wide in fear of still blank spaces.
He can’t hurt me anymore, he can’t.
This chant brings arms up to cover
once bruised faces fresh with phantom pain.
Don’t look down, don’t look down.
This chant steadies trembling feet
walking over fears now conquered.
It has to get better, it has to.
This chant loosens the noose
wrapped tight around the jugular.
I’m still here, I’m still here.
This chant is whispered when
the water recedes and the sun returns.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
Too young, too soon.
I can count on one hand
how many times I held you,
Sleepy little thing.
Bright eyes, wide and ancient
you stared right through me
like you knew who I was
the moment we met,
Sleepy little thing.
All I ask is that you
wave to the sun for me
kiss the stars for me
say hi to the moon for me,
Sleepy little thing.
I loved you more
in those few weeks then
I ever thought possible
but you rest and I’ll
meet you in the clouds one day,
Sleepy little thing.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
Hey Dark Eyed Child
I see you weeping.
Who gave you those
tears in your eyes?
People I once loved, she said.
Hey Dark Eyed Child
I see you sleeping.
Who put those dreams
in your head?
I got them from the clouds and stars, she said.
Hey Dark Eyed Child
I saw your heart the other day
Who shattered that
beautiful soul?
Man did, she sighed.
Hey Dark Eyed Child
I see you making your own way
Who gave you that light
I see you shining with?
The sun just up and kissed me, she beamed.
Hey Dark Eyed Child
I know you tired of
hearing me speak but
I just had to ask,
who made you?
Me, she grinned, I did.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
Through passion I live,
through stagnation I die,
through diligence I am reborn.
Over all things my word is my blood.
It lives as I live slipping through
my veins and into my heart.
I put pen to paper and vanquish my
demons. When the words stop
flowing, I can’t get going.
I fall into dreamless slumber.
Within silence lies my fallen comrades.
Murdered by delerium and conceit.
They dwell in the realm between shadows
drowning in thick, palpable darkness.
I must be lucky to have not perished
under the weight of my predecessors
for the road is long and weary.
But when the oceans of my soul
get to stirring, the tempest roams
searching for dreamy outlet in starless
skies of ruby and amber. I concede.
My blood has won.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
And if the sky were diamonds brilliant and blue,
we’d all reach for heaven as if it held a mother’s warmth.
And if we were birds gliding upon golden gilded wings,
surely we’d soar over snow capped mountains yearning for home.
And if the peacock wing’d sea call us back to her,
we’d answer with a thundering “Yes Mother, we hear you!”
And if the cool handed shade of the willow beckoned us,
surely we’d lie upon her away from the sun and daydream.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
On a quiet night
a hazy sky wrought
with pink and white
clouds and flakes
drips sweet delicate
crystals of ice.
In a mid morning fog
powder crunches
softly beneath light
steps from dainty feet
in heavy boots.
When the sun is high
sharp skates glide
across the slick smooth
frozen glass of water.
As dusk settles
on the horizon
another blanket falls.
If one were to venture out
into the frost shrouded sunset
surely ice would meet skin.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
Golden bronze rays
shower light and
ooze heat in the
noontime hour of
the unforgiving days
of wet June warmth.
Sticky, moist, slick
skin falters under
pressure impregnated
with exhaustion and
unquenchable thirst.
Steam rises from
now viscous tarred
streets after rain
falls with no warning.
Waves of lurid heat
evolve from every surface
in sight near and far.
Wet, hot, moist, sticky,
sultry, intense, stifling.
Summer has made it’s entrance.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC