I find very little encouragement
to live my life these days,
it used to be different when I was ten.

I remember walking down this street
humming and skipping in full joy,
Like I had the juiciest fruit in all of the world
and that fruit held secrets,
carrying more than just sweetness,
It was big, golden and shiny
I think that fruit was my heart,
It was always so full.
Almost overflowing
with sickening sweetness,
exasperating energy
and a sticky smile that was always there.

I would dance around, walk fast then slow
I would roll around, talk so loud then low.
It sickens me now.
Why was I like that ages ago?
What made me so excited about life?
To wake up every day and just....live?

It sickens me even more
That I can't have that again.
It also confuses me
because what is human life
if not a change after change after change?

Drenched in feeling
Eyes drink the landscape

I could swear that each colour was
emotion-tinted
sorrow-toned
anguish-textured

How many stretched hours of living
made each heavy brush-scar?

What volume of rinsing tears
for each change of shade?

Why did the artist know instinctively that the people
were so small
in such a vast, pigment-thick world?

From this distance they feel like children
But I know that they are grown
At least on the outside

Agony
and aesthetics
amalgamate in
assembled alchemy

Are these thoughts
artist-intentioned
landscapist-birthed
painter-engineere­d?

Or are they my thoughts
reflected
by brush strokes?

Designed to elicit, not instruct
To return, not to teach
To cast-back, not to create

This open canvas
in muddy colours

A perfect, terrible mirror
Helping me gently
in my now softened
sadness

You read my poetry,
then turned away,  
as if the words
had nothing to say.  
Each line was a pulse,
it was a part of me,  
yet you drift on past,
too blind to see  
that my verses ache,
hoping to be heard,  
yet silence lingers,
louder than each word.  
The ink may fade,
but my feelings remain,  
as I laid my heart bare,
was it all in vain?

©️Lizzie Bevis

Gray dark skies outside
Wet cool air to the touch
Breath almost visible
Like a fine mist
Rain falling sometimes gently
Sometimes harder
Terrace being cleaned by the water
Plants getting needed nourishment
Turning a brighter green
Sky being cleansed anew
The city being bathed and refreshed
A calm cloud hovers
Quiet and peaceful
As the rain continues to fall
Ever so gently
Rainy day

Gray skies greet me
Quiet streets almost empty
People sitting at cafes huddled together because of the coolness

Cool Sunday morning
Last day of the weekend
People enjoying the moment before the start of another week

Cool Sunday morning

They loved us until we fell,
Tumbled on a flaming wing.
They thought us smart, great,
Until we reached the fired sun.
We rose too high, too great.
Wax melted on our wings,
Formed by our friends and family.
We were great, once.