Distance and time

Lost, feeling the way out.
Travelling through the veins of god.
Hearing that global heartbeat.
Washing away in the flow.
I want to swallow the moon tonight.
To feel the tidal shift in my stomach.
To spit out the bones of the past.
And the well-travelled memories.
I touch this earth and it feels like home.
Yet when my eyes blink open.
I am crushed by the weight of this world.
I belong here, but a million miles behind in time.
Waiting for the palm leaves and ferns to sprout in my veins.
I wish to return, and also remain.
Eating forbidden fruit.
Running with the beasts.
Perhaps the change will come from inside.
Washing over me like conscience.
Seeing the divine in all that my eyes lay upon.
This is our home.
It is our only one.
Ninety-two million miles from the sun.

11/07/202111/07/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: sun, time, travelTags: bones, city, earth, god, home, lost, memories, poem, Poetry, return, space, star, sun, time, timetravel, travel, veins 7 Comments

Martyrize and sympathize

If only I could let you go.
Off my skin.
Out my heart.
I wanted a part of you to reside in my cells.
Forever burning bright like my northern star.
But the cancer grows.
It eats away at all we have.
Now, I must be stronger than Jesus.
And survive being crucified.
By you.

10/03/202110/03/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: crucifixion, jesus, loveTags: art, cancer, cross, crucifiction, crucify, hate, heart, jesus, love, northern, poem, Poetry, star 8 Comments

Shell of imaginary imagination

Caught in the tangled weeds of busy nothing.
A mind fraught and frayed in the vines of life.
I wait for god to cut me free.
Yet in my sleepy weariness I hear.
A starlight voice that tickles the back of my neck.
And turns each shake into a shiver.
God whispers.
It’s all an illusion.
Your garden is your own.
And the demons are just voices trying to find a home.

19/01/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: Devil, doubt, godTags: art, demon, doubt, god, life, mood, poem, Poetry, sea, shell, sleep, star, starlight, tired, voices 14 Comments

Photosynthesis in retrograde

8pm. Half awake.
Sonic ringing in my skull like sonar.
Crash through your words that splinter.
Deadening my star.
Sweeping up my sparks.
Picking the petals of me into nothing.
I curl back into tomorrow.
Soaking in the dew of innocence.

18/10/202018/10/2020 by Mark Ryan Categories: death, hurt, loveTags: art, flower, light, petals, plants, poem, Poetry, rain, sleep, sonar, sparks, star, sunshine, time 3 Comments