memories

Forty.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

It was such a gentle cleansing,
with fragments of my former
self, falling in line with the rain;
the wind blowing and leaving
scars of days past, in debt to the
life I left behind, repaying my
sins with a promise of another
sunrise, one lasting chance left
to blow if the winds should shift
so slightly. It was a buildup of
my mistakes falling before my
eyes, dropping from the heavens
to show their past disguises and
remind me where I was headed,
with the passing of the storm.

LV Letters – Three

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I tried counting memories
at the touch of my fingertips,
two and four, then six – until
I was well past the numerical
representation of loving you,
basking in the gentle light of
the moon that comes with all
memories filled with you and
I; two more, plus four and six,
dancing down the halls of my
place in repetition to echoes
of jazz playing at the steady
rhythm of my heart that only
comes while thinking of us.

Insight Five.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

With every chill, I still reach
out for the warmth only found
in the middle of your embrace;
wrapping myself in memories
of waking with the rising of the
sun and curling up against you,
kissing the back of your neck
in an attempt to hear your light
giggle and sigh, warming my
heart with every sound, and
leaning further into your touch.
With only your old blanket and
my fallen memories, I am still
cold through the nights, in a
search of warming devotion.

Sunrise.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I had spent the last few moons
swirling around shades of blue –
reaching out between the stars
and blending the colors into my
favorite memories on repeat.
I was too focused on creating
the perfect shade of you, that
I never saw the splash of gold
and auburn appearing on the
skyline until long past the sun
rising, bleeding together new
colors for me to paint with; a
pleasant surprise after many
a moons cast in loneliness.

Thirty-Nine.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

It was only the silence
returning, creeping in
through the cracks with
a resilience in latitude
towards the tremors of
heartache and looming
debris; twice crossing
stages of change and
promises subdued with
the helping hands of
another, melting down
with the cries of rain.

Orbit

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I sat two hours in the cold,
gazing at the moon in her
far away beauty; half of her
always hidden away in true
darkness, the parts that only
I knew, with a heavy heart.
Her smile unwavering even
amongst the temptation of
the stars, a curvature in true
form, with my hands reaching
out ready to hold if ever she
should fall, whispering sonnets
and lullabies; only shining the
brightest in my steady arms.

Sacrifices.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

she had become broken
fragments of hope and
insecurities, reflecting off
the glass of whiskey and
rocks – promising herself
she was always the fighter,
staying rooted in her desires,
yet, with every passing sun
she was breaking off more
pieces of logic and reason,
trailing shards of debris and
rubble in her wake, with only
bits of glass left distressed
without a reflection to hold.

Lullabies

Posted on by Amber S Morse

With the gentle waves of amber
granulated into the night sky,
binding stars into the darkened
scenes of heaven and fidelity,
there is a moon wrapped in the
embrace of my love, soothing
sonnets twice turned over and
falling with the rhythm of lost
laughter at the touch of hand;
gently and soundly upholding
the northern skyline with twists
of fate and desire, only casting
reflections against their heart
to help guide me back home.

Thirty-Seven.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

Past the reflections
of the window pane,
billowing slightly in
the soften breezes of
the neighboring trees,
harboring heart aches
in disguises of hope
hardened with truth;
past the melodies of
the wildflowers long
ago blooming on the
horizon, with laughter
circling like butterflies
in early June, there is
a moment trapped in
the smile of a memory,
recaptured with every
look out my window,
to the glory days of
you and I – back when
there was still such a
thing to look back on;
past the reflections of
regrets and what ifs.

Miles to go.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

as I sit in anticipation, gazing
out the window of the backseat,
going seventy five without a radio
down the grains of the highway,
watching the amber waves sway
past, I am aware that with every
passing grain, every passing day
there is another memory that we
will never have, another day lost
to indecision and circumstance;
I watch the waves carry me into
hope swaying against reality, and
I am lost in a sea of grains, buying
the outcome of dreams not quite
attainable without a new horizon.