acceptance

Thirty-Five

Posted on by Amber S Morse

It was only a whisper
heard amongst the soft
echoing of the crickets in
late August, past the tender
rays of the full orange sun
setting past the treeline, still
dancing among the clouds
in the early hours of evening,
yet I heard it – it was calling
out to me, so all I could do
was answer with a whisper
of my own. It was like the
early days of back and forth,
playing hide and seek in
messages, with shards and
pieces of silence laying broken,
shattered by the light breezes
falling on an autumn dusk.

Reflections in Orange.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I woke early to the sun
streaming through the
bedroom in a light haze
of golden promise.
Autumn is approaching,
a change of season, and
an outlet for the breeze
to come billowing in,
sweeping away all the
sun-kissed memories and
debris of the summer –
a lighter affair to the fall
of laughter and reddened
defeat; a crisp outlook
breaking the gaps, painting
hues of hope in harvest.

Thirty-One.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

Just when the sun thought
she would never love again,
the world as she knew it
shifted, rotated, turning
everything right side up,
and she could still see
mountains, valleys and
lakes, and her hidden smile
returned with the memory
of the blush of the clouds –
before, she was only loving
with half her heart on the
world, and finally she could
open herself up, to love again.

Tuesday

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I’m living three lies
short of a promise with
no helpful home in sight.
My survival reliant on
caffeine, nicotine, lack
of dreams, with no in
between, and I’ve never
been more friendly than
with the mask of night.
I dare not open my mouth
anymore, for I haven’t an
idea on which version of
the truth will come out;
I know only black lies,
white lies, and how to
swallow my pride – none
of which gets you back
on my side, so why try?

Thirty.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

Last night you almost brought
me to tears – the only one
capable of such a feat with
the complete absence of words
floating around my room in the
hours between two and the moon.
Just tell me it was never real,
lie if you must, because I’m
finding it harder and harder to
decipher what truth even means,
let alone where you stand with it.
Say what you will, for no matter,
there is a realness in your words
that will in truth, bring the tears.

Tango.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

with a push to the winds
you are pushing back,
fighting for the control
I never once let you have;
becoming a master in a
game built for two, being
played by us three, and
I am at a loss as to what
the rules are anymore.
all I am capable of doing
is to keep pushing, hoping
that you’ll continue to push
back, and to fear the day
when you no longer do.

Twenty-Seven.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I struck a match to call
in a favor, watching and
waiting as the smoke
billowed from the tips of
my fingers, heightening
in ashes and the cherry –
patience was never my
friend, as I longed for
time to escape me in
silence as I struck one
more match, hoping for
my luck to finally change.

Twenty-Two.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

Remember how we used to
make fun of those lovers
bidding on their happily
ever after only two weeks
in? We’d laugh and gawk,
swearing that compassion
grew only with time and
understanding, and no one
else would ever compare
to what we had anyway.
But look at you now…
bidding your heart away
on another, two seconds in,
with only a lifetime of
happiness up for stake.

Insight Two.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

my heart beats
so loudly when
you’re near that
I almost didn’t
hear you say
that for me,
there’ll never
be a second
chance; it was
like trying to
revitalize the
butterflies, only
to let them drown.

Letting Go, Or Something like that

Posted on by Amber S Morse

For months I was carrying a
gram of hope around my heart,
telling myself that I was
patient enough to wait for you
to realize where your home
truly lay, between comfort and
complexity, growing rustic at
the edges with time and wild
fires blazing up in passion –
but those are not realizations
forming on your lips as we
finally take that dive and
converse back like we used to.
I am kept at a distance, with
two smiles and a half shrug,
for your words are telling me
never again, or ever truly was.
Believe me sweets, this isn’t
the truth that I was hoping
would become our end, but I
have listened to your sonnets
growing out beyond the waters;
I shall drop all hope the
next time that it rains.