self – Havoc and Consequence

Your reconstruction of self

Through heavy storms this heart doth beat.
Battle born and weary.
Feathers frayed liked angelic irony.
Patched and nearly severed.
Where do you go to be reborn?
While wolves lick between your teeth.
And though pregnant hopes swell and ebb.
Through cobweb sticky emotions
Through distance in your eyes.
The cries of sincere doubt corrode quickly in your salty waves.
Smashed into pieces upon your unwelcoming rocky shore.
Yet something crawls out of the ocean.
Something that slayed the terrors of the deep.
To reach up and scale that towering mountain.
That you placed there to warn those out to sea.
Of how close to god you now sit and suffer.
How away from us you wish to be.

18/01/202311/01/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: change, sea, tearsTags: change, emotions, fight, flight, monster, ocean, poem, Poetry, sea, self, tears, waves 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

Reveal

The suffering of fools.
With each new day they add their stain.
A clogging to the air that you breathe.
Beneath the end, that’s where they’ll find you.
So strong and complete.
Underneath.
You want it all so badly.
This revelation to tomorrow.
To be remembered and loved for the skeleton inside.
As you bathe in a bath of bleach.
And rinse your soul with turpentine.
Uproot the dirt and the dark that keeps you hidden.
That keeps you displayed for a world of passer-by’s.
This great reveal, behind the curtain.
Under the skin.
Is the world you live in.

15/10/202218/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: body, dark, strengthTags: art, bones, dark, empowerment, fake, hidden, motivation, paint, poem, Poetry, portrait, reveal, self, soul, strength, tomorrow, underneath 2 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

An inner choir sings

You do not find it in the brush strokes of the saintly.
Or willowing wisps of utterances in cold hallowed halls.
Do not look for god in pages of prejudice.
Or underneath the rocky souls of the holy.
Light a candle and feel me.
Peel back the bits of Christ to find me.
Swimming in the shallow cells of you.
Awash, in the DNA of God.

11/09/202210/09/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: angels, blood, godTags: angels, art, blood, choir, church, god, jesus, light, poem, Poetry, prayer, religion, saint, saintly, saints, self, truth 4 Comments

Unravel

UNRAVEL

Pull here she said.
A little chord, so deep.
So red.
And unravelled the great divide.
Pulling down the curtains, the illusions.
What was before, now gone. Faded into time.
She smiled, with a small frustration remaining in her eyes.
Of why it took so long.
All around the walls of the world fell.
No sound but the wind of change blowing through these bones.
Hollowed and weak from the weight of such a world upon them for so long.
Bare she had found us, no clothes, shawl or patience left.
Yet she gave us her hand, and asked us to pull the chord.
That little red twine of hope that dangled from another universe.
She was, after all, another version of ourselves.
Similar yet so different.
Her smiles were genuine.
Generic by such judgement that we cast into the voids of space.
And now she said, make haste.
And burn what lies upon the floor of the galaxy.
Tomorrow beckons, the dust must remain.
So we tugged at the chord, and held our breath.
Through veils, hoods, and blindfolds.
Refusing, at times, to know any different.
And then the souls gave way, falling free to something beautiful.
A painted landscape tied up in selflessness.
Her gift to us, wet with the dew of time.
Wrapped up and contained on our fingertips.
All we needed to do, was unravel and believe.
For to see is to believe.
And our eyes will not betray us again.

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

Tag: self