Poems from Ayana Woodard

Flinting fire fairies fly As the dance of the phoenix burns inside And as that scorching heat burns eagerly Golden yellows, ruby reds, grow...
As the moon swells from still waters below The sky turns a dark indigo Yet another calm night has granted us rest And blest are those who...
Lively, smiling I once use to be, Before a thing hit me called reality What was that? You don’t like what you see? That’s alright, I’ll...