Death of the heart

Through hollowed tears that paint the walls.
Cries a thought, uttered more in lament than desperation.
The lights fading.
A love abating.
The prayer for a heart on the edge of nothing.
What demons and ghosts stole it away.
Which angels plucked it from the earth.
Has god really written the last passage in its tale.
Or has the other heart deserved a second chance?
These questions lick at the mind of fate.
While others close their eyes to possibilities.
They lost the beat, the rhythm of love.
Those roots that went deep, tangled and clogged with mud.
Twisted with happenstance and rode the whispered jokes of time.
All beneath the silent wings, and bells ringing out a new era.
While eucalyptus air fills the lungs.
And we cough up the oil of yesterday.
For heaven can wait, while paradise before us blooms.

16/11/202222/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: angels, death, fateTags: angels, art, chance, death, demons, doover, fate, ghosts, god, heart, heaven, light, love, poem, Poetry, prayer, wings Leave a comment

Firmament

There is no difference in what is happening here.
As above, so below.
You catch the sparkle, your reflection off a million diamonds.
Twinkling in the heavens.
Radiating your truth.
Do you blur with movement, or by the lies that cough up like dust.
I was once unsettled.
Once covered with earth.
Repositioned by the hand of fate to a terrible place.
The blood in the diamond that knew my face.
Yet it is more precious now, the life I hold in my hands.
Why ask the sun not to shine.
For the moon to course through the years.
You ask for simple but wish for different.
Which disrespects God who has it all planned.
Unstitch the heavens for me.
Open up your veins for him.
All the same yet convinced in its difference.
If you want to bring the heaven and the stars down to earth.
You must rise at least to meet them.

08/11/202212/12/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: god, space, starsTags: blood, change, destiny, diamonds, fate, god, heavens, light, moon, poem, Poetry, self, space, sparkle, sun 4 Comments

Champagne after a funeral

How fast things change.
A moment, caught between the movement of an eyelid.
The disintegration of life.
Forcing me in that space to grow up too soon.
The safety, dispersing like clouds.
As the flocks descended.
Earth shifted.
Moments and memories placed now into glass jars.
I steal myself away from the perpetual motion of this life.
Retreat to the bottom of my garden.
Where the weeping willow silently sheds no tears.
But dapples me in shadows.
The soil is disturbed, much like my soul.
Yet buried beneath, little treasures are hidden.
Broken china and a pocket watch which never tells the right time.
I can hear the wind.
It calls and hurries like a ghost.
Your voice echoes, a tear from childhood.
Where I was safe in four walls and your presence.
A Christmas morning.
Perches now in my mind like a raven on a grave.
Tinned sweets and snow, Jesus born on straw and beneath a star.
As I tear at sparkling wrapped boxes.
Put down by loving hands.
I lay yellow tinsel on the grave of this shift of life.
And remember not what was printed in those itchy leaflets.
But what was written on my heart.
Words to fill up my soul, clouding out the sun.
As your ghost now hovers over me.
I drink you in, like champagne and pain.

03/07/202203/07/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: christmas, funeral, ghostsTags: art, champagne, christmas, clouds, death, drink, fate, funeral, ghost, ghosts, jesus, poem, Poetry, presents, time, tree, weeping 8 Comments

Tragedy ending on this

As the city hums, and chokes the flowers.
This mind refracts.
Stuttering like the trains which snake beneath my feet.
Beneath my bones which rot like timbers of time.
Belonging to a place that clouds and coughs.
Surrounding like a multitude of sin.
This is what I wanted after all.
But the magpies pull the treasures away.
Spiriting the sparkle skyward like seasons.
I feel old and rooted.
Yet freshly hewn and tender.
A ghost of a ship stranded in an international airport.
Someone’s lost luggage.
Unclaimed but missed.
What if the cracks and voids are filled.
By only nonsense and the spit of this current time.
Fuzzy images and words that make no sense line my eyes.
And roar while I try to sleep.
This sleep, this dream.
Shaking in and out of a nightmare.
Which I chose to play.

13/05/202213/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: city, nightmares, timeTags: airport, art, birds, city, dreams, fate, flowers, ghost, lonely, nightmares, poem, Poetry, sad, ship, time, treasure 3 Comments

Pay the ghost

This is what you wanted.
He breathes into my soul.
Sticky air, heavy with the smell of formaldehyde.
Little deers of delight spring into life.
Galloping from my heart to my head.
If only he knew. If only I showed him how.
It is so freeing, no longer living with regret.
Letting the cosmic dance go on without you.
There is still time.
He whispers sweetly, thinking I still cared.
Thinking that what was once, had never shifted.
But inside, it had all died.
Blooms had bruised and fallen to the ground.
The flower water, stagnant now like a swamp of untouched issues.
I smiled a smile that told him nothing.
Letting him think he’d won.
Letting the shadow swallow me once again.
Death hurrying in case I grew new gills.
But it was true, this was what I wanted.
He just never understood, for he could not see.
Trapped in the spectral realm of transcendental adherence.
That this was no longer an ending.
But a beautiful beginning.

01/05/202201/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: death, fate, ghostTags: art, beginning, bruise, death, decay, dying, end, fate, flower, ghost, poem, Poetry, whisper 5 Comments

Abiding to the calls of an immutable fate

Wiping smiles that smear.
Sticky and iridescent on this soul.
Spun up in a tangled web of dreams.
Ones that glowed in the ashes.
Tumbling embers.
The moonlight and sunlight trapped.
Sparkling like forever diamonds of wonder.
We place ourselves in the centre of this covenant.
A vessel, a conduit of hope.
Where you crack and splinter.
The gold of our love drips in and fuses shut.
That Japanese way, all smiles and bowing.
Head towing, heart directed towards the seventh heaven.
Cupped in our hands.
Precious, fragile.
Determined, defiant; as strong as religion.
You kiss, I receive.
I slip inside that familiar soul.
Rearranging the furniture within.
A place to rest bones and desires that flutter like butterflies.
Ones that freshly taste the air of life.
Dipped in tears of God.
So that they fly forever.

11/02/202211/02/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: hope, kiss, lightTags: art, butterfly, dreams, eternal, fate, god, hope, kiss, light, love, moon, poem, Poetry, soul, strong, tears Leave a comment

Patterns on our soul

Wandering in a time of danger.
Leaves me shaking.
My cheeks all rosy red.
Winter, creeping into my eyes like tears.
But inside, it’s all warm.
All still wet.
Gushing a crimson love that is full of elation.
Utopic movements cloaked in everyday actions.
A sideways look to you.
Words pulled from my mouth like pearls.
A cough to breathe, bringing up sand and seaweed.
Having dredged our love from the bottom of the ocean.
Down in the depths where the wreckage once lay.
There is sand in your eyes, sparkling like gold.
You lick moments over me now.
Silky and familiar.
Once a comforting lie, now this time a truth.
This is now, the place we have crashed and shattered into.
Burning still from the fire.
Fading away in the rain of a thousand lifetimes.
Let me suck that eucalyptus air from your lungs.
For I only want to breathe now, if you are breathing.

21/11/202121/11/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: fate, love, soulmatesTags: art, fate, gold, kiss, love, ocean, poem, Poetry, roamce, safe, soul, soulmate, wreckage, you 10 Comments

A Future sprung from a many thousand wounds

The universe crept closer, seeping into the open wounds.
Its voice hushed like the sound of a million stars.
I must say this to you.
The words confessed, expressed and digested.
Some lost in the confusion of expectation.
I thought you were stronger, I didn’t see the scars that still bleed.
He nodded in knowing, in seeing the everything there in a moment.
Nobody’s perfect, he coughed back, time leaking from his mouth.
You were once much stronger, but each time around you faded a little.
Now the version before me, has too many cracks for what I gave.
He sighed, and closed his eyes, wishing he were as strong as they wanted.
God never spoke to him this way.
He always moved in shadows and light, avoiding the reply like a child ignoring consequence.
He knows that, he knows it hurts. But that is not why he doesn’t reply.
The universe spun out a sentence which made the floor ache.
His heart dissolved in the hearing, and was born once more in the understanding.
I never knew, I had begun to think he didn’t care.
Your strength I see, lies elsewhere.
And with that, it left, letting fate swim across his eyes like coy in a crystal pond.
He once more stepped from the past, onwards.
The future, taking it all away.

26/10/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: fate, time, universeTags: art, change, coy, fate, god, poem, Poetry, stars, time, universe 2 Comments

An immediate future

Tomorrow drips in it’s yokey gold.
Offering the treasure of yet to be.
A sparkling beauty of opportunity.
Casting minds back into the dark.
Searching for answers in the rooms of yesterday.
Taking time to pray.
Asking God to push us onwards.
Into the light.
Into the storm.
Too long have I sat waiting for the world to split open.
To flower and bloom like spring.
For the great wings of fate to fly.
Catching me as I fall to climb.
Yet all there really is, is now.
The tear on your face.
The laughter in your eyes.
Each moment a prize.
That should be savoured in the moment.
For time yet to be and been and gone.
Is just another setting sun.

19/10/202119/10/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: fate, future, timeTags: art, bird, fate, flight, future, now, poem, Poetry, sky, sun, time, tomorrow, wings Leave a comment