 Wandering and floating
here and there, my presence in life is like smoke in the air. I'm not a memorable face, leaving the briefest trace, I drift in and out as I please carried faintly on a breeze, blink and I won't be there, like smoke in the air. Though I may seem approachable and transparent, it'll soon become quite apparent that what you see, you can not snare, much like smoke in the air.
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 Bury me beneath the sycamore tree
a beautiful monument for all to see, in no other grave I'd rather be, for all the joy it brought to me. ~ Liz Austin 2020 There's a house on the hill
that your life used to fill, but now it's empty and still. Much like a broken heart it's falling apart, crumbling and shattered like a sad piece of art. Through the years, the paint has begun to fade and peel, but time has yet to cover the loss that I still feel. It is no longer a home, and though I should have known, it's still a bitter pill, knowing that you no longer live in the house on the hill. ~Liz Austin 2020  My home isn't in the here and now,
but the there and then, a place I'm unable to go back to again. My home lives in the past, but oh the memories last. They take on a golden haze as I look back on those past lived days. I cannot truly go home again it's true, though the structures are still here, the time is different and I am too. My home was in those fun-filled days, the smell of fresh cut grass and a summer daze, the tinkling of wind chimes, the creaking of a swing, and listening to the birds joyously sing. My home is a time long past, but I go back through the memories often as if watching an old movie with a familiar cast, for not everyone in those golden memories have made it to the present, and so I find they are both sad and pleasant, sad for those who are now missing, and pleasant for they'll always live through my reminiscing. Yes, my home is not in the here and now, but in the there and then, and I visit often through my memories, again and again. ~Liz Austin 2019.  I wish I was a tree,
yes that would suit me. Not a care or a woe, nothing to do but grow. I could stay in one place, towards the sun I would face, and grow at my own steady pace. Yes, I wish I was a tree, though stuck in one place, I'd still be free. ~by Liz Austin 2020  Photo cred: LincolnCreek Photography When I die,
please don’t leave me where I lie, Lay me down in a field of green where the woods surround me and the hills are serene. When I die, lay me to rest somewhere high close to the clear blue sky, with a view of mountains in the distance that remind me of the Lord’s existence. When I die, please don’t cry, for I’m not under the thick clay, though my soul will visit, if I may. I’m sure I will miss my green hills, the Summer heats and the Autumn chills, but know that I am home somewhere up in that beautiful blue dome. ~ By Liz Austin  I am a wild rose,
I love to be free, please don’t take that away from me. I am a wild rose, not one to retrain or contain, more like lines of free verse prose, I’m not one to hold to one lane. I am a wild rose, it is not the pain that I fear, but the ties that bind me, and loss of the independence I hold dear. I am a wild rose, I don’t mind settling down, happy in the life I chose, but I won’t wear the gown. ~By Liz Austin 2019  I am a wild rose
who longs to be free, but I am stuck in this pot and it seems I’ll never be I gaze up at the sky and I see the sun, I see the birds flying high and I wish that I was one But here I am rooted in the dirt, dreaming of open spaces deep in the desert I am a wild rose longing to be free, but alas, I fear I’ll never be. ~ Written by Liz Austin 2019  To a green wood swing
built for two, that perfectly fits just me and you. Built by daddy's hands, through the years it still stands, though a little rough and worn for it's seen many a morn. We treat it with care as we pack it away from the winter air, but oh, come Spring we bring it back out first thing, ready to enjoy the green wood swing. How I've come to love the feel of the rough wood and paint beginning to peel, and the creaking sound as we gently swing and listen to the birds joyfully sing. On the green wood swing we watch the sun rise to our left and set to our right, and gaze at the stars shining bright in the night. A haven to read and write, to laugh and have fun, set in the shade, away from the sun. Many a morning and evening spent here with you, sitting on the green wood swing made just for two. Peaceful and content, we have not one lament, as we watch another day go by staring up at the evening sky. We thank God for small blessings and an old green wood swing. ~Liz Austin 2019 Lord oh Lord, please help me.
I am tired, The kind of tired neither sleep nor coffee can help. How do I go on? How can I live? My bones and muscles cry out in pain, I eat while praying I won't be sick, but it's all in vain. My body is weak, my system battered. I pray to you and read your word, I remind myself of your countless promises. You say you'll be my refuge, a safe shelter, but when Lord? When? How long will I suffer? To you, do I even matter? ~Liz Austin 2019 |
AuthorBorn and raised in Upstate NY, Liz is a freelance writer. She has written for websites, blogs, and magazines for the last 10 years. She works as a freelance writer and editor, as well as a proofreader and beta reader for several authors, all the while working on her first book. Archives
July 2020
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