restless

Intervals.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

should I wait for you
in the days when the
birds first learn to sing,
where the wildflowers
are sprouting up in the
rhythms of jazz; or on
the eve of the first snow,
where the winds whistle
tunes echoing the moon?
shall I continue to wait
until the very last of my
breaths are whispering
your name, hollowed in
promises and patience,
left to break with the
falling of my final sun?
even then, will you still
remember me – left to
wait in longing for an
end, we’ll never have?

Embers and Ash.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

you always craved fire,
watching the sway of the
flames dancing to a beat
only heard by the call of
night, swiftly kissing the
embers – I just failed to
realize that I was your
match, waiting to burn.
and as my flames go up
lighting the northern sky
I can only quiver to ask,
will you love me, still?

Reflections in Red.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

With the last of my wishes
burning by the stars, in tones
of washed up hues left by the
falling sun, I took a chance at
whispering your name – letting
it nestle on my lips as I tried to
hold it in my embrace one last
time, watching memories float
like lost lanterns to the skyline;
counting my final wishes rising
with the stars yet falling like ash
in time of the burning sun, as I
wait under the darkened hues of
night for my name to echo back.

Travelers.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I spent the evening
counting the pathway
through the stars to get
back into your arms –
veering left at the Leo
as the light blush of
the breeze helps carry
me past long forgotten
constellations and lone
memories, believing in
possibilities reflected
off the gaze of the last
stars, knowing my path
to be long and darkened
by the night sky, I will
still find my way home.

Even Numbered Dreams.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I have always fallen for the
evened numbered things in
life – counting stars in pairs
to the heavens and believing
in possibilities set in rhythms
of jazz serenading the moon,
closing my eyes with every
third lightning strike as if I
could avoid the rarity of odd
numbers as though there was
a burden or a curse that comes
in singularity; so perhaps, my
darling, I was meant to love
you, for a second time in life?

Insight Seven.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

There are words between us
that neither will ever say – deeply
rooted in an honesty that burns,
touched by the stars in wishes
set with memories and distance
in time. We’re dancing between
the silence, swallowing the words
every time they nestle on our lips
as though actions aren’t speaking
loudest, while we can pretend the
words aren’t there, even though we
both know what the other cannot
say; whispering to the moon every
night under the blanket of stars
covered in second chances that
will one day consume us both.

Speaks Loudest.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

So much for words when
only actions hold any truth;
resemblances of the ideas
we can’t form into coherent
thoughts past our lips, instead
focusing on silence and the
act of distance to showcase
feelings – providing time to
play the enemy, and for our
memories to fall apart under
pressure, as though actions
aren’t in fact confrontation,
nestled on the lips of a lie.

Forty-One

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I could have sworn to the right
side of heaven, you’d never put
me through this hell; forcing the
silence to deliver your goodbye
as you quiver inside memories
of us swearing we’d never say
such words, light at the touch
and too fragile to fall, as though
it was only another action left for
us mere mortals here on earth, too
confined in confrontation to bare
witness – so you can preach your
silences, I’ll still speak the fluid
language of love, meant only for
your ears, even if you can’t hear
me past your goodbyes left silent.

Runaway.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

If my words mean nothing
then why do you shed light
on them during the hours
following the break of the
moon – filling your thoughts
with serenades and sonnets
of the love that I have for you,
which you aren’t allowing to
grow; bending the edges of
the words into hardened and
misshapen truths as though
honesty is the reality you’re
running from, and I am the
keeper of twice painted lies.

Verses in October.

Posted on by Amber S Morse

I crave a few grains of poetry,
blessed from the stars in light
of the moon, swirling between
thoughts cast in the minds of a
hopeless romantic and a realist;
bouncing off the reflections of
the stars as they parade on the
horizon, mapping out the colors
of where the sun will rise and
counting down visions from the
heavens, whispering promises
to the moon in a repetition of
clues and colors, masquerading
as the onset of a lover found.