So alive and so in love
Like a single lily in the meadow, there we dance
Our waltz of love putting everyone to shame
We whirl and twirl, until the night fades away
As your coach arrives, I draw for a goodnights kiss
But away you ride, leaving me amiss
I awake to the sound of furious crashes
The ground shakes, It’s those ****** howitzers
The muddy trench comes in to view as my dreams fade
How I long this war to end so you and I can waltz again

Dull and grey
What has become of you
Lying face down, not a care anymore
Stripped of pride and redressed cheaply
So much passion and truth
Gone, taken in your youth
Go on and listen to your pendulum
Go on to your Annabel lee
Rest now, man in the street

things go missing,
lost somewhere between
then and now.
and the rest is history,
and all that you can do is try
to outrun the rising tide.
oh, to be carried away,
to be buried in your own garden.
if you cling to the things
you can't change,
that's the first mistake.
but the rest is already swallowed,
swept by the rising tide.
things go missing,
lost somewhere between
you and i,
reshaping history,
rewriting time
all the time.

Grains of sand sift through
The hourglass of timeless flow
As we journey on.

©️Lizzie Bevis

between the painful ****** of nostalgia from the past
and the hugs and dreams of fantasies from the future
there’s no room for you to live here
maybe if I evict my equivocal feelings
and start thinking less and saying more
at least you would have something you would want to respond too
without just replying to me out of pity
maybe then you would move back into my present
silly of me to think i could even pause time for a second
but I swear when i’m with you it’s like the world moves slower
but now I sit on top of the ordinary
and the world still spins without you here
the sun sets a little earlier
the birds still flock in sync, how they did yesterday
everything is still the same, but i look at the so normal world
with wistful eyes.
and i’ve drowned myself in sentimentality
not because I don’t know how to swim, but I just choose not too.
and as I navigate through this world without my muse
with potential as an artist, with dreams of a time traveler
I pray to stars and ask for a split second just to be with you again.

I’m told that I’m a dream produced
by time and space and DNA, that’s organized in such a way
that chemistry and physics are enough to make it dream,
so let’s accept that really there’s no ghost in the machine.

But still it seems that I exist, and isn’t it amazing dreams
can interact with other dreams,
do calculus and higher math,
gaze at the stars, make art, make love,
investigate it all and find
we’re just another accident of chemistry and space and time.