Empyrean
  • Featured
  • Poetry
  • Fiction
  • Contests
    • Poetry Contest
    • Fiction Contest
    • Non-Fiction Contest
  • Support us
  • Advertise with us
  • General Submissions
  • Moon Submissions
  • Zodiac Submissions
  • Issues
  • Featured
  • Poetry
  • Fiction
  • Contests
    • Poetry Contest
    • Fiction Contest
    • Non-Fiction Contest
  • Support us
  • Advertise with us
  • General Submissions
  • Moon Submissions
  • Zodiac Submissions
  • Issues
Working: Vol. 4, No. 2 - Issue 14 Summer 2025

lost promises and lingering prayers

Issue 12
i prayed tonight. i prayed to stop seeing stars—to see angels instead.
they’d talk back, right? wouldn’t just be another silent face
lighting up the abyss of the night sky. i made a promise
 
once—to myself—that i’d find my way out of the quicksand that is
self-sabotage as soon as i stepped foot in it. i swear i promised.
it’s been hard to keep it, when my thoughts strike me in ruination
 
and i drag myself on, but i’m trying. (i promise i’m trying.)
i prayed tonight. i prayed for the fallen and the brave, but
mostly for myself, and what’s become of me.
 
when did i start wishing for angels instead of wishing on the stars?
when did the stars start feeling too far? i never used to hope
for an answer from them; their presence was enough.
 
can it be like that again? is it possible to return to the stillness
without the anxious feelings? i’ve spent my whole life immersed
in wonder. tonight, i promise i will find my way back to it.
 
tonight, i said goodbye. i said goodbye to empty promises lost
to time, to the negativity wrapped too tightly around my spine,
to the familiar prayers that linger at the tip of my tongue each night.
 
release trickled down my cheek as i stepped out of my box of
self-made obstacles, shivering but free. i traced the freckles
on my skin and stitched up the silently weeping tears in my heart.
 
i left tonight. i left the old me and all of her grief, shipped her away
to a desert that’s rarely kissed by rain where she can wither,
become a cloud of ash that floats up and disappears into the distance.
 
perhaps she’ll meet her angels, the ones she wished for.
perhaps she’ll become a star.

Marisa Jorgensen is a Canadian writer who’s studying Creative Writing and Publishing at Sheridan College. Her poetry appears or is forthcoming in Analogies & Allegories Literary Magazine, within tensions, Undressed Society Quarterly Magazine, Poetry Undressed, The Familiars Magazine, Empyrean Literary Magazine, and Arrival Magazine. Her favorite hobbies include reading, listening to music, crocheting, and photography.

Copyright © 2025 Empyrean Literary Magazine, L.L.C.
  • Featured
  • Poetry
  • Fiction
  • Contests
    • Poetry Contest
    • Fiction Contest
    • Non-Fiction Contest
  • Support us
  • Advertise with us
  • General Submissions
  • Moon Submissions
  • Zodiac Submissions
  • Issues