ASHLEY MORRILL

Politics These Days

Darkness, contempt, fear, and hate,
Afflictions I fear will stay our fate.
Disregard, blame, and degradation,
What the hell is wrong with our nation?
Patriotism.

Damn.
What does that even mean?
Watching the news,
A place of peace is not what it seems.

Where is the sympathy, the love or the strength?
Buried far beneath the surface.
How far will we have to go to get it back?
An undetermined length.

Fallen so far down the rabbit hole,
Never coming back.
Afraid we lost sight of the goals,
The priorities we lack.

 

Habit Is a Sin

Habit is a sin to our growing souls;
It strips us naked, tempting us.
Buried down under six feet is a hole
That remains there, waiting for us.
Comfortable and unvaried we stay,
Enduring meaningless tasks day by day.
Forgetting to let our guard down and breathe,
Stress encompasses, leaving us to seethe.
Like the apple called to Adam and Eve,
Tempting us, luring us, no time to grieve.
Stripping us of the emotions we feel,
Habit allows no one breaks or to heal.
We must then break the habit of habits,
Saving souls from the cages they inhabit.

 

Reanimating Dead Metaphors

Looking before me, mountains
Growing taller, wider.
I am overtaken
By the immense span
Of glorious sky and wonder.
I am strapped in tight.
A metal clasp and a rope are my savior,
Ready to catch me if I fall
Far below the mountain valleys
And peaks.
Just as I near the top,
I lose my footing, crack—
The metal breaks (my heart does too).
Scared,
I hang,
Dangle, sway, swing.
The valleys twist and swirl below me
Like cotton candy at a carnival.
Afraid and alone,
At the end of my rope.