A Broken version

These roots, once wrapped up in cotton.
Fade and break to a summer forgotten.
They twist and scorn in a marauders bed.
Feasting on lies within that head.
And wake tomorrow black and rotten.

02/03/202211/02/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: dark, death, fearsTags: age, art, bed, black, death, dementia, end, forgotten, haunt, light, man, mental health, Old, poem, Poetry, roots, rotten, summer 1 Comment

Lair of a liar

Cheap and nasty, true and bold.
Tales of hiding, fears untold.
Spring out of mouths that should be closed.
Locked in brains too old to know.
Gestate in places dark and hidden.
Finding victims so equally ridden.
For what you give is what you get.
What goes around, lest we forget.

30/07/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: karma, lies, lifeTags: art, bad, brains, choices, karma, lies, life, mask, Old, people, poem, Poetry, rhyme, rotten 5 Comments