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 Dec 2024 Irving MacPherson
Emma
finger-painting walls,
soft whispers guard fragile light,
hope flickers within.

brushstrokes of my trust,
boundaries bloom like wild fields,
strength begins to grow.

abstract shadows fade,
in colors, I find my voice,
the self stands aglow.
 Dec 2024 Irving MacPherson
Zeno
The moonlit sky hovers
a dark and empty street
A night submerged with wonder
and stillness

In a blissful voice, the night sang
about a faraway land,
where the pastures danced
and summer was everlasting

Lustrous knights roam the land
and the goblins lurks in the shadow
Like the darkness I lay on
As my bones relish in the calm
of this wonderful night
the bantering of rain
the insinuation it might snow
the mirage of moonglade
the mountain drink
the desert thirst

everything
resolves with flowers

a withered realm
a crestfallen kingdom
their copper queen withdrawing
from the bitter harvest
in the spirit of Persephone

everything
dissolves into flowers
It's not the stillness of the mornings
or the nights that stretch too long,
not the silence in the hallway
or in the memories that linger on.

It’s not the scent of your perfume fading,
or finding strands of your grey hair,
it's not the teacup on the table waiting
or the full cushions on your vacant chair.

The hardest part, I understood too late,
it isn't counting the days apart
but in the permanence of your absence,
and this persistant ache in my heart.

It's not the missing, or the longing,
or in your presence that we lack,
but with a heavy understanding
that you are never coming back.

©️Lizzie Bevis
Someone cherished close,  
Makes parting weigh so heavy
My heart aches, Goodbye.

©️Lizzie Bevis
When they leave a mark,
she grew —
she rose out of grief;
even outgrew some hidden scars,
find some glorious jams — out of scars, she later discovered, a shady gem.

When they leave a mark,
she grew —
she bred out of bare sounds;
she then understood the relevance
of empty promises — its words and its absence
the mere thought that grows with it.

She then leaves a scar;
some strain,
some courses of her daily life — some parts of her,
even when she did not become a part of theirs.

She then rose —
when they leave a mark.
we grow, we develop, we love, we leave traces of marks—some part of us.
The constant cacophony, the needles in all sensitive places, the rush to get to the end for no reason.
The give and take between strangers, the screaming sirens, the specious silence of the app world.
The rescheduling of schedules, the tweets fast and furious, the world spinning off its axis in disgust.

I sit on the step for a few minutes, watching the multicolored spider weaving like an ancient woman.
A bird of paradise colorfully waves at me. An elderly man bends over to talk to his also elderly dog.
A man tunes his piano from an open window. The waves of sunset begin. I calmly go back inside.

— The End —