Poem By Amberlee Carter

I imagined
rain casting bows
cross your sleep struck neck,
you tossed and sighed
heavy skin to bitter winter-
Your shoulders slender and spent,
you held up the world
and it gave you exhaustion.

The days were long then,
they came at us with jagged teeth
disguised behind the make-up of spring-

We were worn in those days,
so we made love to invoke sleep-
and in the wake
you'd recite stories and poems
for effect -
I remember:
you were always on adventure,
delving into foreign lands
where only your mind could take you-
and I was always going home,
tied to an umbilical cord and hair
that sprung from the roots of mother-

Then after you extinguished
the day's final cigarette,
you'd roll over and extinguish yourself-

and while I'd lay limp and lonely at your side,
I realized:
there is nothing you can do in this life,
no commitment or companionship you could offer
that would free me
so I turn from the sound
of your lungs heaving,
to the twilight just beyond
and find myself
in the spaces between silence and stars-

In these tortured thoughts
I'd rest, eyes unblinking and focused
on the deep purple of universe-
I know
sleep cannot comfort dreamers.

Comments about Sigh

Truth and reality invade the dreams.
Imagination...revelation...reflection, should all give the dreamer comfort when dreams elude her...powerful! ! kenneth
... (sigh) , this has been another great poem.. I liked it very much! HBH
Good words, heart felt words i can tell, like it very much.

Rating Card

3,9 out of 5
4 total ratings

Other poems of CARTER

Crawling In My Skin: The Eternal Itch

I take sleeping pills
to anoint the ache,
stay awake long enough
to feel myself float

...Shaving My Legs

....shaving my legs to enya,
it makes me feel clean.
you've got free long distance-
you should visit more often.

Between Two Griefs

last night while I
played in another realm of consciousness,
I felt your hand move against mine,
as if you were reaching out

nser eEding hHre (RrRted)

We were never
traditional lovers-
but we were
very good at being

Chronic Observatioin Disorder

The quiet wait, contemplate,
the scene- everything it contains,
The mundane, the magic,
the vibrant, the apathetic-

After Erratic Encounters

I woke, awkwardly
in the dim light of morning
to find the world hushed in newborn snow.