Grief

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…and tomorrow threatens.

24/10/202224/10/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: grief, loss, painTags: ache, art, bereavement, blood, gone, grief, hurt, hurting, loss, missing, pain, painful, poem, Poetry, sorrow 6 Comments

Muddy deep sleep

Not over, not complete.
Just fading away.
A blissful depression hung up like ruby red apples.
Strung like silly smiles on those too drunk to know.
This moment washes over, the gravity pulls you down.
Chipping out teeth like tombstones yanked from the ground.
Oh the silence that it unearths.
The faded names who hoped the future would be different.
But the future just teaches loneliness.
As a departure descends.
That long goodbye, hard on the ears but softly spoken.
Trembling in time.
Nothing really dies.
We all just fade away.
Siphoned into space.
Breathed out on earth’s asthmatic exhale.
Heaving under strain.
Replaced by things we all despise.
How we spin and sigh and scream.
Reduced to floating dust and regret.
Asleep and dormant, waiting for the nothing.
Fearing the repeat.

14/11/202114/11/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: death, depression, teethTags: apples, art, death, depression, drink, drunk, earth, gone, grave, lost, poem, Poetry, sleep, smiles, space, teeth, time 2 Comments

A Matter of urgency

A slow decline.
That pushes our fingers to the edge.
To find a place more sublime.
Than the tapping keys forever misplaced.
For these bones will crumble, fall and fade.
While the universe will keep on spinning.
Its murky waters in which to wade.
Find the end of that new beginning.
Your fast ascent.
Existence spent.

18/08/202102/08/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: end, fate, lifeTags: bones, computers, decline, fade, fall, gone, poem, Poetry, rhyme, space, universe, work Leave a comment

The Empress

Though she sank into that crystal gloom.
Where memories dwell and history hangs.
She smiled, not to the departure.
Or the trauma she would never know.
But to herself.
For though her life was diminishing.
Fogging up her eyes and silently singing lullabies.
She had chosen the means, the time and the space.
She was the ruler of this small endeavour.
All on her own terms.
Absent of the eyes, or the tongues that criticised.
Or the tiny push.
She controlled the moment that quivered in her soft small hands.
Only she knew how it was to end.
An Empress of her own demise.

28/07/2020 by Mark Ryan Categories: death, Poetry, suicide, waterTags: art, death, demise, empress, end, gone, grave, lake, poem, Poetry, princess, queen, suicide, water 15 Comments