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

Everything (in time)

The earth subsides.
Transient thoughts of escape.
Dissipate.
Pick the petals from my mouth.
As the mourners avert their eyes.
Death, was no surprise.
Yet this extension, a spark inside.
Flutters like a butterfly trapped.
The decades wash over me now in waves.
Heady and fragrant.
Crashing coral like beauty through my soul.
Leaving stains like memories in my eyes.
How long was I there, what was left?
Do these bones show rings if sliced in two.
I feel born anew.
Trembling and naked like the first day.
Yet now, covered in the embryonic fluid of knowing.
That tomorrow is just the beginning.

05/01/202205/01/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: butterfly, life, lightTags: art, beauty, birth, bones, born, butterfly, coral, death, eyes, light, mourners, ocean, poem, Poetry, spark, time, tomorrow, waves 8 Comments