Little wounded wing

Little wounded wing.
You never knew how dangerous it could be.
Flying through life as you were.
Hoping others, like you, wanted to sing.

Little spark of light.
No one told you how maddening it would be.
Existing how you are, so special.
The rules never showed you how to fight.

Life it took a hold and stained.
Into your feathers and soul it pained,
you to see how this world really was, behind the lies.
Through maligned and deceitful eyes.
After wandering your many trails, deserving of fairness and love.
The world is dark and mattered.
Cruel and harsh and tattered.
To a creature who sees the good in everyone from above.

Little broken heart.
We all told you how not to cry.
No one cares for water spent.
The gulf between us now so far apart.

Hey little dying bird.
You told yourself in the end.
The only thing that was missing, was love.
And love was the only thing they no longer heard.

19/11/202222/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, change, deathTags: bird, birds, change, crying, dark, death, despair, feathers, hope, life, poem, Poetry, tough, wings 4 Comments

Toujours en fuite? / Still on the run

Vous souvenez-vous, quand vous étiez jeune?
Les battements de coeur dans un infini.
Une seconde sur les lèvres de Dieu.
Pouvez-vous sentir la forêt?
Es-tu fuyant?
Disparu dans les arbres.
Quelle partie d’entre vous ne dort jamais?
Pour toujours rêver dans un monde où règnent les cauchemars.
Portez votre couronne.
Asseyez-vous, et lavez-vous dans les larmes cosmiques.

/

Do you remember, when you were young?
The heartbeats in an infinity.
One second on the lips of God.
Can you smell the forest?
Are you fleeing?
Disappeared in the trees.
What part of you never sleeps?
To always dream in a world where nightmares reign.
Wear your crown.
Sit down and wash yourself in cosmic tears.

05/10/202218/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: crown, escape, woodsTags: art, away, cosmic, crying, escape, forest, god, heartbeat, hope, independance, poem, Poetry, running, self, tears, trees 4 Comments

Weep then sleep

They say, the world almost drowned.
The day she wept.
Those salty tears.
So sacred and immaculate.
That the ground began to crack.
Like the conscience of god.
Crumbling into sadness.
For she was so young.
So lost in the dream of idealism.
Now forever lost in her own madness.

03/06/202202/06/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: crying, flood, godTags: art, crazy, crying, god, gods, madness, poem, Poetry, rhyme, sad, sadness, sea, sleep, weep 5 Comments

Craving miracles

She began to lie.
Her fingers clasped in on themselves, feeling the strength and weakness in her grasp.
The church, empty now of all souls except those she had come to talk with.
Tears brimming in the eyes, they stung like the holy water welled in the font.
Singeing the new-borns brought in against their will.
The lies came quick and easy.
Words of living danced from her mind and mouth.
Painting the walls the velvet colour of sin which faith knew all too well.
Her prayers circled her and danced above to illuminate the ceiling of the church.
All gold and crisp like an autumn leaf caught in the sun.
Little sparks born from the light that was housed inside of her.
She lied by saying she could cope with this still.
The betrayal to god was that she thought she could go on.
But he knew, and he listened still.
As did all the saints breathing there like ghosts.
She clenched and fumed, crying all the while.
It was hard for her to know someone who knew her better than herself.
But would not wish her well.
For god would not lift a finger in her plight.
He didn’t then, he wouldn’t now.
No matter how many tears flowed in that church.
They would dry all the same.
Those walls would hear his name, again and again.
She lay down, and closed her eyes; using a bible as a small pillow.
Breathing in the dusty time of incense and pieces of flesh.
She waited for the miracle much promised, what better place to wait.
She lies there still, but do not wake her.
For she may still be dreaming.

25/05/202207/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: church, god, miracleTags: art, church, crying, desperate, dreams, faith, god, hurt, lied, lies, miracles, poem, poems, Poetry, religion, sad, sleep, tears 14 Comments

Sometimes, only tears

Throw it away.
It hangs heavy in your hands.
A broken love all torn and heavy.
Easy to let it slip into the folds of time.
It came there suddenly, the tear in their eye.
Hanging like a beautiful jewel in the corner of the fleshy oyster.
Threatening.
Threatening to tumble, fall and disappear.
Smudge into a cheek or dripped away with fear.
The silence kisses the skin, and darkness breathes upon the neck.
An invasion hurried by the darkest forces.
Throw it away.
Wouldn’t it be better.
The pumping flower struggling to survive.
Wet with dew drops birthed in this moment.
The tears speak of a hurt, unseen yet complete.
A collapse inside like twin towers.
Don’t listen to the breaking.
How can they throw it away.
Something they cannot call their own.
Wouldn’t it be better.
If they stayed?

02/11/202102/11/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: crying, hurt, tearsTags: art, collapse, crying, ending, hurt, jewels, love, poem, Poetry, sad, tears 6 Comments

Little wounded wing

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LITTLE WOUNDED WING

Little wounded wing.
You never knew how dangerous it could be.
Flying through life as you were.
Hoping others, like you, wanted to sing.

Little spark of light.
No one told you how maddening it would be.
Existing how you are, so special.
The rules never showed you how to fight.

Life it took a hold and stained.
Into your feathers and soul it pained,
you to see what this world really was behind the lies.
Through maligned and deceitful eyes.
After wandering your many trails, deserving of fairness and love.
The world is dark and mattered.
Cruel and harsh and tattered.
To a creature who sees the good in everyone from above

Little broken heart.
We all told you how not to cry.
No one cares for water spent.
The gulf between us now so far apart.

Hey little dying bird.
You told yourself in the end.
The only thing that was missing, was love.
And love was the only thing they no longer heard.

MORE VIDEO ART HERE

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25/09/202111/08/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, change, deathTags: bird, birds, change, crying, dark, death, despair, feathers, hope, life, poem, Poetry, tough, wings 12 Comments

What you find inside

It’s not like they could tell he’d been crying.
Pomegranate tears had evaporated on his cheeks.
Left to circumstance and suspicion.
The usual vulnerability crept in like the cold.
He’d wanted to disappear.
Pull his bones from this earth and take the plane westward.
But that knowing.
That fundamental chorus of doubt kept him seated.
Wounded and defeated.
The table was set for him and god now.
A devil on his shoulder painting the walls in his mind red.
Each word that drifted from his mouth.
Drew out feathered lines of inquiry and distaste.
In the mouths and minds of others.
With that future transparency, walking away again.
It was like, schoolyard mornings and lost mittens.
Passing cares, wrapped in their own silence.
The truer placed words that smelled ugly.
Circling the whole.
An inevitable destination, posing as something great.
Through distinction and the dying light, he now understands.
He was never greater than.

25/08/202125/08/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: crying, lost, tearsTags: art, crying, flight, light, looks, lost, minds, people, poem, Poetry, sad, school, suspicion, tears, travel 13 Comments

Comes back to then (redux)

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Taken from Everyday Nightmares – out now

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11/06/202110/06/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: fiction, goodbye, sunTags: art, australia, crying, fiction, goodbye, hurt, lost, melbourne, nightmares, pain, poem, Poetry, rarra, redux, sunset, tears Leave a comment