XII: The Origin of Lies

Oh, Ila, don’t be weeping,

my dear, you misconstrue;

The sun is only sleeping

before it rises new.

I’ll wait with you til morning,

and tell you of the stars,

the memories adorning

the empty night with scars.

This love that’s learned by lacking,

whose vastness has no chart,

in silent orbits tracking

the shaping of your heart.

Please trust that nothing passes,

we only change our form.

Your tears transmute to gasses

when sun returns to warm.

Child, listen, though you’re growing,

some things cannot be known

until you’ve grown up knowing

out here you’re all alone.

I’ll be with you forever,

these words will be a lie.

If I could but this deliver:

To live until you die.

So while you’re small, keep holding

my hand as though it soothes,

The world will keep unfolding

each wrinkle that it smoothes.

Believe me when I’m saying:

Oh, Ila, darling dear,

No matter what I’m staying,

I’ll always be right here.

• August 2025

Submission History

Date	Publication	Status
August 19, 2025	Still Point Arts Quarterly	Pending
August 19, 2025	Sublimation	Pending
August 22, 2025	Palette Poetry	Pending