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Amber Chism Poem
She started life as a gentle spring rain,
Innocence not yet slain.
So full of life with joy and happiness,
A soul truly blessed.
Parents who couldn’t figure it out,
Wrestling matches filled with screams and shouts.
Slowly the spring rain turned to dismal drizzle,
Happiness chipped away with a chisel.
Wings turned to armor,
She learned how to be ever the charmer.
Her shine dimmed as she tried to become invisible,
She learned at an early age she was invincible.
Dismal drizzle turned into a full blown tornado,
As horns took the place of her halo.
Childhood stripped away in the blink of an eye,
Silent pleas to just let her die.
Shame bottled up so no one would know,
Depression took root ever so slow.
Tornado gave way to an ice storm,
Frigid becoming her new norm.
Walls built to protect herself,
Caution to the wind she began to neglect her health.
No one could possibly understand her pain,
Any chance at real love had been slain.
Convinced she was destined to walk alone,
Thriving on the hope one day they would atone.
Eventually the ice began to melt,
A new hand had been dealt.
Spring broke free,
A warrior she began to see.
Her circumstances didn’t define her,
She was her own cure.
She started to love the face in the mirror,
Everything becoming clearer.
Flowers began to bloom,
A new pattern on the loom.
Spring shifted to summer,
She began to see she really was a stunner.
Her held high,
A sight that would make anyone cry.
She embraced her scars,
Eyes as bright as the night stars.
Summer gave way to fall,
As she made her final call.
The one who saw her at her worst,
Tried with all his might to have the curse reversed.
With her dying breath,
She made him promise to find her after death…
-A
Copyright © amber chism | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Amber Chism Poem
I walked into the far-left corner where the cedars thin and fade,
A patch of earth the sun avoids — a quiet, heavy shade.
No carved white headstones here, no marble warmed by morning light,
Just jagged stones half-buried, leaning crooked in the fading night.
The grass grows patchy here, as if afraid to claim the ground,
And every step feels softer, like the soil wants to swallow sound.
A chill moved through the tree line as if the wind had something to confess,
And I felt it circle round me, grieving lives it couldn't bless.
No names, no dates, no stories pressed into the waiting clay,
Just markers sharp with silence — cruel reminders of the names we let decay.
I knelt beside a stone gone smooth on one side, broken on the other edge,
A fragment of a life left unrecorded, buried beneath a vowless pledge.
I felt the weight of every absence settling heavy in my chest,
A ledger of the overlooked — the ones forgotten with the rest.
Each stone stood like a question we were never brave enough to ask,
Proof of how humanity fails when remembrance becomes a task.
I touched a jagged marker, felt it cold and tight beneath my hand,
And wondered who once stood above this grave, and why no one chose to stand.
The earth here holds a darkness older than the cemetery’s bones,
As if it memorized the sorrow of each life that died alone.
Peace isn’t found in doves; it’s in the graves the world won’t see,
Where dignity begins by facing who was denied their right to be.
So I whispered to their resting place what time refused to keep:
You deserved more than broken stones, more than this unremembered sleep.
I whispered to the stones again, though I knew they could not hear,
Because remembrance is a fragile mercy — and mercy rarely lingers here.
When I walked away, the shadows closed like they’d never let me in,
And the forgotten stones remained unchanged — as forgotten as they’ve always been.
Copyright © amber chism | Year Posted 2025
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