Abscence unavenged

Uncovering eyes and wavering temperance.
Tremors still reside in the soul.
In memories which shake for answers.
Alone in the nervousness.
Deliberate is god’s deliberating.
Cold, as those stones of Solomon.
With an unapologetic turn of phrase.
I’m forced to consider this new reality.
Whilst piratical angels sweep and scour.
Rushing for tiny fragments of humility.
All bones and belief.
Remains of a life cut short, yet painfully endured.
The moments grow out of my fingertips.
Time calcified in nails which scrape once more at existence.
And I lay down in such silence.
Remembering those who no longer populate this realm.
Those who breathe new atmospheres.
Tinged with golden saccharine.
I see the castle and insomnia.
And usher in absence asphyxiation, lost again of all control.

27/04/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: angels, lonely, lossTags: angels, art, asphyxiation, bones, diamonds, existence, god, gold, lonely, loss, lost, poem, Poetry, soul, time 7 Comments

Salvus erit

A coldness there.
Darkness, placing a hand on my skin.
These eyes close, transportation to a familiar place.
Touching me, the lonely.
Wanting to make an everlasting connection.
It swamps my lungs, and cradles me in arms of hollow bones.
Comfort in this awful place.
A room where I chose what fits, what goes where.
The ghosts mingle and float with intent.
Then a call, a gentle pull.
Like a vein slipping across a bone in motion.
The sounds of the desert, a shofar calling.
It’s triumphant song barrelling over my eyes.
Calling me like a flame.
God needn’t reside in the hand that pulled me out.
Nor in the eyes of the person offering hope.
For they are  the same, they are myself.
Smiling and pulling on the little red thread.
Lighting the way forward with tiny sparks.
Saving me from the depths once more.

03/10/202203/10/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: hope, light, lonelyTags: art, darkness, desert, flames, ghosts, god, hope, hurt, light, lonely, lonilness, music, pain, poem, Poetry, pull, spark, vein 1 Comment

Something thought eternal dies

It pulls you to the ground.
Rips inside you.
Plunging into your soul like skeleton hands.
That fear of a solitary future.
The stain of a nothing left behind.
In the absence of another.
You throw up your love onto new terrain.
Heavy now, with a new solo gravity.
The weight of the world.
The weight of a tear.
Crashing inside you.
An inky wave of resolve and refusal.
For your heart was sewn and stitched to another.
And now the wound is left to bleed into nothing.

17/06/202217/06/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: gravity, loneliness, lonely, painTags: art, future, gravity, heart, hurt, lonely, love, pain, passed, poem, Poetry, skeleton, soul, wave 1 Comment

Heroin(e)

Fire crack cackle in hushed shadows.
Little fingers about to cut you off.
What you say makes me shudder.
A creeping shiver left at the side of the bed.
A mind now full of kitty litter.
With this life-long looking and an ache to scratch.
Weakness, tossed out like surprise.
Sweetness that came in like a hammer to a glass heart.
Lick me up like spite, with a malice reduced down into silver spoons.
As I fall away from you.
And watch you choke on words not the loneliness.
It moves now in to post-blue passive aggressive tendency.
Feeling the testosterone in our bones.
Angry, because you wanted it this way.
Embattled and emblazed with the world shouting us as well.
Waiting for the silence to once again smother our fires.

12/01/202226/11/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: lonely, painTags: art, bed, drugs, heroin, hurt, lonely, lonilness, pain, poem, Poetry, scary, sleep 6 Comments

Fright night

All year round he kept to himself.
Quiet and content, like a book on a shelf.
It was Halloween though when the tables turned.
And in his head, those thoughts had churned.
To live it up, go mad and wild.
To put on costumes, like any other child.
He loved that night when he fitted in.
And wasn’t shamed or drenched in sin.
He could go out and talk to others.
His friends, his mum and all his brothers.
Accepted him and played for ages.
Some souls to flick through his dusty pages.
It was Halloween he loved and longed for.
The skulls and sweets; and dismembered gore.
He felt alive and loved the freedom.
That came with the scares of the creepy season.
For that was the time he loved the most.
For poor old Charlie was such a lonely ghost.

30/10/202125/10/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: ghost, halloween, lonelyTags: art, death, dressup, ghost, halloween, haunt, lonely, poem, rhyme, sad 2 Comments

Solitude sometimes completes

Quiet is the night that falls into me.
Spreading the inky blackness all over my soul.
God smears it on my eyes.
The devil breathes it into my lungs.
Dark replaces lonely.
And as the moon crescents and pierces the void.
I stumble quickly into a knowing.
Dropping fear like shrouds of revelations.
Collapsing into a nothingness bliss.
Swimming in solitude.

11/12/2019 by Mark Ryan Categories: lonely, moon, night, PoetryTags: art, black, bliss, dark, darkness, devil, escape, forest, god, happy, isolation, lonely, moon, night, Poetry, pome, snow, solitude, swimming, woods 11 Comments