The Stories In Between

I grow tired of the reflection
How it always stares back at me
Like an old friend I’ve watched over the years
Condescending, knowing, judging
Eliciting each imperfection, accentuating
Ensuring I never forget, anything

All the years it held, the broken regrets
An occasional smile, danced mockingly
As the hands of the clock move forever forward
Now, it seems the reflection has grown tired of me
I no longer recognize what I see
It looks past, through me
The cold indifference dismisses, hollows me

I shift from one foot to the other, and back again
Staring into nothing, looking for something
That was once a vague reflection of me
Time is taken as quickly as it is given
A paradox of moments that can never last
One after another, until the circle is complete
Always in motion, confined to a linear narrative

What is forever, is it knotted within all…

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Belief System

Sarah Doughty

“Maybe it was wrong of me
to believe a lot of things.
But loving you was never one of them.”

I confess. Maybe it was wrong of me to believe in magic, even beyond my limited childhood wonder. To see the stars and the moon in the night sky and once again be reminded that I was built from the same particles. To see lightning strike out in the distance and still feel its electricity and know that a similar static fires off in my brain, reminding me to keep breathing. Keep living. Maybe it was wrong of me to believe a lot of things. I needed to believe in the possibility of more than just magic so that I could muster the strength to survive. Because stars would never stop shining as long as they still had fuel to burn. But, if you take nothing else from here, know…

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written in blue mercury

Written in Blue Mercury

snow falls
as silently as sleep
pressed snowflakes
icicle flowers
between the wind and windowpane
melt their way to sill

polished chrome darkness shivers
ankle deep in frost
night’s breath spills
along the  frozen glass
its silver shadow rolls
and condenses with the dawn

night’s epitaph
written in blue mercury
trickles down my windowpane
in the light of a new day

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I Have Seen

The Stories In Between

I have seen an old woman

Sitting in a rocking chair

The warmth of the desert sun

Shining on her through the front window

Surrounded by her children, grandchildren

Great grandchildren, friends

The smile on her face as she basked in the beauty of her life’s work

In her eyes, not a glimmer of regret

For none of this could be, if not for her

I have seen an urn, flanked with flowers, purple and sun

A pastor weaving scripture of hope, love and God

Images of a life lived in faith and purpose

Trembling to the words of hallelujah

They find peace in the knowing

For every breath, every step taken

She will be by their side

And in the eyes of those who remain

Is found, a reflection of her

I have seen an empty rocking chair

The warmth of the desert sun

Shining through the front window

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