hope

Morning Reflections.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

Ever so silently, I crept into
the blanket of stars last night,
hoping for their gentle embrace
as I longed to be near the moon,
casting wishes on tomorrow and
singing alongside the breeze that
only comes at twilight; rocking so
soundly to the whistle of trees
below, hopping from dream to
dream with every newly fallen
star, and realizing too quickly
the sun would rise, and I’d be
falling from grace, without a
gentle kiss from the moon to
guide me into my day, and so
deftly I cried – a dewy mist on
morning grass, left as a promise
that I had been thinking of you.

Flying by.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

It was one of those lazy
Sunday afternoons, with
the reflections of the sun
glistening off the ripples
of the bay, showcasing
all of the answers to the
questions I never thought
to ask, with the laughter
of the children echoing past
my daydreams, when I saw
the first butterfly of this lost
season floating by me – it
was innocent and endearing;
promising to the new one
ahead. I tried to grab hold,
but like change it was quite
unpredictable, yet always
eager for us to take notice.

Relief

Posted on by Amber S Morse

If I could graffiti the sides
of all the buildings on your
daily route, I’d paint only in
shades of gray so you’d
understand just how many
ways I can think of you, and
dream of the days between
longing and love; how with
every variation of my paint
and sonnet, I was believing
in the sunset falling over the
crevice of the moon, reliving
the first memory of that eve
of the two of us as we painted
the sunrise in shades of blues,
predicting the future of how
many ways we could fall, never
thinking twice about defeat.

In Direction

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I used to have a guided path
but my light burned out moons
ago, and I haven’t a match to
spark an idea – so I continue
walking, hoping for help from
the falling stars to hold my hand.
The terrain is rough and battered,
but my feet are worn in, so I take
one step, then one more and just
continue walking, waiting to cross
paths with another – holding onto
the idea, that they’ll have a light
to help me find my way home.

Thirty-Two.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

Lost in the midst of an
action, surrounded by
shreds of distance, masked
in the frayed remains of
absence – I can still hear
the light fluttering of your
eyelashes in a repetition of
even numbered beats, as
though you were trying to
fly back towards me; if
only for those few seconds
lost in exploited silence,
there’s a sliver of light, and
perhaps that is why an
ounce of hope is both
destruction and discovery.

jazz.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

It was the way the sultry beat
would drop at a moment’s
notice, lingering in the air to
be absorbed by hearts and
minds – breaking the meters
with repetitions and silence;
it was the way you moved
once the songs began, with
an element of grace swiftly
unpracticed, raw, and inviting.
Our love was a lot like jazz,
unpredictable, yet shaken, all
the while smooth at the soul –
I miss the melodies played to
only a trumpet and her sax,
at a beat only lovers can know.

Bundled Up.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I wear your silence as my
favorite blanket, warming me
as the nights turn to drinking
beers and watching the sun
fall sooner, the leaves changing
faster, all the while building up
wishes to cast on the stars.
You are still my favorite shade
of blue, silence be damned.
You are the comfort in a soft
embrace – the only warmth on
a night drunk on memories.
But your silence is still falling
as I had hoped my wish filled
stars would, and I can do nothing
but wrap myself up, and count
down the hours until the sun rises,
well past my wishes once again.

Boulder.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

When I close my eyes
underneath the light of
the moon, it is you that I
dream of; sunlight kisses
over the mountains, crisp
breezes running fingers
through my hair, and sweet
gentle chatter over coffee
on Pearl Street. My heart
aches for your embrace –
hand in hand strolls beneath
the light of the stars, while
counting wishes of whispers
of hope, longing and love.
With every new moon, I
close my eyes, dreaming
of you and I – together
being home, once again.

Thirty-Three

Posted on by Amber S Morse

believing twice in conviction
with a knack for innocence,
she came in like the rain in
summer; hitting hard, lingering
softly. she was still decadence
dropping from the heavens in
echoes, washing away blue
light memories from the moon.
she cleared away all wreckage
in one gentle fall, including me,
without a change in season or
a promise left to break – only an
ounce of hope past the silence
left glaring off the puddles,
which is why I still take to the
window, every time it rains.

Truth will set you free.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I was too busy coddling
our future to notice the
present dwindling to ash,
falling away to memories
of stories we swore would
never become truth; I had
a plan, an escape set in
rhythm to condensation
sought after a whiskey
glass. I just wasn’t quick
enough in execution, and
failed in time to rhythms
of swaying heartbeats,
lighting stories filled of
new promises turned into
memories, with a match.