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Ashley Lang Feb 2016
Just beyond my heart,
was a seed immersed
in enriched, fertile soil
called Holy Land.  

I reached down,
deep into my soul,
and felt the serenity
of pure, sacred waters.

Man couldn’t invade
this paradise; however,
the enemy preyed to
steal and destroy it
in order to **** me.
          
Grace whispered to
the seed and watched
it sprout upwards
towards the heavens.

My corrupt flesh fell
weak to my soul, and
became a sacrifice
unto the Lord.

My tree branch limbs
cried out, “Hallelujah,
praise be to thee!
A Holy nation lives!”
Ashley Lang Dec 2015
Here you are.

In his presence      feeling nothing
as you gracefully escape the tsunami
of memories both of you once shared.

“My God, she’s beautiful,”
he thinks as you absent-mindedly
pass him. Your feet protest touching
the ground that he walked upon, but he
glorifies the air you glide on instead.

His mind will swim for you as
your fossilized tears become his nagging
memory. Long ago, time wiped those
water droplets away.

You praised God for kissing those wounds
that haunted you for months. Some nights,
he prays to God to send you back to him.

He drowns at the thought of you.
This is basically the story of a man and a woman. They're previous lovers (or whatever you want to call them). The man sees her and finally recognizes what he lost. I use the elements of air and water to make this smooth, soft, and dreamlike, but uses the simple idea that she doesn't feel anything anymore, but he does! Troposphere is the layer made up of clouds. Airplanes and such fly in this layer. I used this because the troposphere contains both water (clouds) and air. Hope you liked this.
Ashley Lang Aug 2015
"What's your name?"
They ask.

Skin rising with chill bumps
and tingles.  
I have 3 heads chasing
in circles and my eyes are dazed,
looking for stillness--peace.

My tongue is a smooth stranger,
flapping in my mouth
in need of Adam's ale and
Jesus's blood.

My knees buckle
crackling into crushed powder
of failed human strength
as air pushes me down.

Arches of my feet throbbing
against my skin and the *****
of my feet feel the blood
ricocheting along the veins.

"Speak up, girl." They voice
again. *Who are They?
Is They a
calm cherub or fuming fiend. I
cannot tell.

I.
Am.
Broken.
Ashley Lang Aug 2015
"My son didn't deserve it. Nobody's child deserves to be treated like that - nobody's.” – Lesley McSpadden

How can we continue to
allow innocent lives
to be lost to gunshots,
the “lawful” judicial system,
and the officers that
“fear for their lives”?

When will we rescue the
312 Americans
(who happen to be *black
)
who will die this year
at the hands of those
hired to protect them?

Can we save the 2.8 million in cages
or the shadows that lie along
the pavements and
cling against hope?

Or can we prevent more teens
from falling flat onto
Earth’s face while silhouettes
rise from it?

How can a cop fear an unarmed
American? Was it because he
was black?

*“He was just a normal
18-year-old, finding his way."
Thematic Poem #1 of my senior year #BlackLivesMatter

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