Sovereign severity misplaced by an absence of form

Blood stained and bare.
My fingers smeared the colour of your lips.
Gripping, and clawing onto this love.
White knuckled, they’ve pulled at the loose threads.
Of a tragically imbalanced affection.
Unravelling the clothes of an emperor.
With an iron taste on the tongue.
And cold like the sun, I pull the feathers from my own wings.
Dropping them on the meandering path away from you.
Scratched by thorns, yet tied to the clouds.
Blinded by reason, and the light from surely an early death.
For the further I tread, the less I live.
Growing colder in your diminish glow.
And your indifference to our circumstance.

02/06/202202/06/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: clouds, departure, hurtTags: art, care, clouds, demise, emperor, hurt, king, lips, love, poem, Poetry, queen, roses, SOVEREIGN, threads Leave a comment

Fake Dawn

The stars are so bright tonight.
It sounds childish, that you want it to last forever.
You see the same in my eyes.
Stretching the night.
Trusting the darkness.
Tomorrow was a failure.
Today is weakened by the sight of it.
That returning thought of Saturn.
Shrinking once more into the horizon.
You marked it there.
When you had nothing to lose.
It’s easy to hope for the dawn to take you.
Easy to grapple that hand of mine into yours.
Sending postcards and roses to your sixteen year old self.
A secret message that you made it.
It’s harder to wipe the sleep from your eyes.
Harder to beckon the day.
Which threatens to stain us like the ones before.
When we were lonely.
And afraid.

09/10/202008/10/2020 by Mark Ryan Categories: love, space, timeTags: age, art, dawn, eyes, hands, light, love, moon, morning, poe, poem, Poetry, relationship, roses, saturn, self, stars, sun, time, tomorrow 10 Comments