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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “The Amber Threshold (a poem in mirrored motion)”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
She weeps in syruped silence, gold-threaded thoughts unwind — as if sorrow were dipped in amber, sealed in a slow design. Her hair: a river of frozen flame, strands stiff with molten grace. She’s half-statue, half-tempest, caught in time’s arrested face. No droplets fall — they hover, caught in grief’s slow rotation. Gravity stalled by hesitation, sculpted in quiet negation. Eyes, rimmed in twilight glaze, cradle comets of undone yesterdays. A galaxy of ache suspended in the amber haze. What does it mean to cry when tears no longer fall? To be the portrait of a feeling that time cannot recall? She isn’t melting — she’s crystallizing. Becoming more memory than motion, more myth than meaning. Amber girl in cyan breath, curled in a liquid elegy — her own fossilized prayer for a future watching mutely.
Lyrics
She weeps in syruped silence, gold-threaded thoughts unwind — as if sorrow were dipped in amber, sealed in a slow design. Her hair: a river of frozen flame, strands stiff with molten grace. She’s half-statue, half-tempest, caught in time’s arrested face. No droplets fall — they hover, caught in grief’s slow rotation. Gravity stalled by hesitation, sculpted in quiet negation. Eyes, rimmed in twilight glaze, cradle comets of undone yesterdays. A galaxy of ache suspended in the amber haze. She isn’t melting — she’s crystallizing. Becoming more memory than motion, more myth than meaning. Amber girl in cyan breath, curled in a liquid elegy — her own fossilized prayer for a future watching mutely.
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