Forever might never come

Somewhere someone is dying.
A last word stuttering from lips.
Visions imprint on eyelids.
Forever.
The tins of the past stack up.
Filling space in your mind as they rust.
Tumbling from the attic like heavy Christmas decorations.
Some shiny, others cut where the edges hurt still.
Somewhere a soul is born.
Breathing it’s first breath as a mother shivers.
All this while the earths spins in continuum.
Caring not for the specs aboard.
Now, that is all that matters.
The imprints of gold beneath your feet.
As you make your own journey.
A destination in mind.
A port of departure behind.
But now, as the wind blows through you like a ghost.
And your skin turns towards the sun like a plant.
Now is what truly matters.
Who knows when the world will stop spinning.
Or when we cartwheel off into space and nothingness.

10/01/202310/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: age, future, travelTags: birth, death, earth, future, gold, journey, now, past, poem, Poetry, space, time, travel 4 Comments

Revelation

Show the world who you are.
Dripped in honey and absinthe.
Hovering by a flame.
All parts, never the same.
As they try to push you under a reason.
A statement, a label, or part treason.
When you smash the brackets of age that constricts.
And you pull down the gods for a closer look.
They’ll see you reflect in their eyes.
Please, memorise their apology.
And wave as they pass you by.

08/01/202308/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: age, apology, godsTags: age, ageless, apology, defiant, flames, gods, labels, poem, Poetry, society 5 Comments

Recapture

The silent soul who wades this world.
With brittle bones and sad inclinations.
Arrives at a place in a memory.
Strung up with words that bind.
Does he fall deeper into the despair of an age?
Of that turning sun that snatches all that lay in his hands?
Or does he shift, arch his back to the march of time.
Following from the front, the best laid plans?
A flag in hand, and a mouth shut.
Marching to a funeral beat.
A soldier in a war of change.
Corrupting from within.

17/10/202219/09/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: age, sad, warTags: age, death, despair, fight, following, fool, guns, hope, poem, Poetry, sadness, solider, sun, time, war, world 1 Comment

Turbulent cosmic swells

Caught and spun, little one.
With moon dust charcoal delirium.
Pulled down, in gravity’s smile.
Replaced with apathetic juveniles.
Scream out, and shut down.
They still laugh, at the tears of a clown.
For you it rains, transitional pain.
A disappearing all over again.
But what if you survived it?
And what if you changed?
What if your revived it?
Cosmically rearranged.
Skywards hopeful, shooting free.
In sweet delicious wild lunacy.
Fragile youth fades in the blink of earth’s eyes.
But your stars remain, in your own private sky.

25/06/202209/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: age, stars, timeTags: age, aging, art, clown, dust, earth, freedom, galaxy, gravity, moon, poem, Poetry, rhyming, smile, space, stars 6 Comments

Drown

My youth would blow a happy breeze.
Through my heart as I devoured the world.
Now, in the debris of such smashed illusions.
I Drown in the tide of life.

16/05/202116/05/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: age, death, drownTags: death, drown, heart, life, Old, poem, Poetry, water, woman, young, youth 3 Comments

Take a bow

Nothing to fear, but the beauty unleashed.
As those velvet eyes unfurl for the world to shiver.
This collapse of an age, of a time now expired.
Blown into the dust of yesterday.
How heavy it must sit. The weight of youth.
Trapped in a moment, encased in expectations.
Those lips, sudden to crack like an earthquake.
The tuneful words scratch, like a raven’s song.
Beneath this magnitude, sits the one I love.
Grasping silently for escape.
I promise to take you away.
From it all.
From here.

12/05/202112/05/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: age, beauty, kissTags: age, beauty, escape, kiss, lips, love, poem, Poetry, travel, wander, young, youth 6 Comments