clouds – Havoc and Consequence

Everything before, then and after

The future tells me how to feel.
Amplified by thoughts of tragic memory.
Divorcing from states of resolve and repair.
Crashing into me like clouds.
All emptiness and Jesus DNA.
Not even there.
Droplets of time that rain upon me like tears.
A miasma of crucifixion crying, caught on the wind.
I’m paralysed by a need to run.
Of that looming fateful horizon.
Escape buried deep in sand.
Turning to glass from circumstance.
What happened as you let me slip.
Confused by the letting go and the careful drip.
Of the darkness that now pools in me.
God is loud like absence.
Mother Mary quiet like convalescence.
A soul, threading through a conscious more aligned to indifference.
Yet reduced, as always.
To regretful ephemeral tears.

30/07/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: clouds, future, godTags: art, change, circumstance, clouds, fate, future, god, jesus, mary, poem, Poetry, tears, world 8 Comments

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

Are you there?

Pretty memories slip inside these veins.
Washing you through my blood stream.
You lay over me, thick and heavy.
While I sleep and when I wake.
I hoped to crumble you out of my heart.
Yet you clung on like cancer.
Haunting me.
You evaporate the time when you shook me away.
Dipping our past in acid to burn off the unflattering.
Now you come to me with selective amnesia.
Telling me you love me still.
I smell the alkaloid tinge to those words.
A bruised motive lies underneath.
You were there all along, but failed to hold me.
To reach out when I fell.
When the dogs ripped apart my soul.
Are you there always, watching me?
What did you feel when I cried in the dark.
When the little razor drifted across each wrist like storm clouds.
Would you have moved to mop up the red rain?
Or are you only there for the summer time?
When the shadows are your own making.

19/05/202219/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: clouds, ghost, summerTags: art, clouds, drugs, ghost, happy, haunt, heart, poem, Poetry, sky, storm, summer, sun, sunny, sunshine, veins 2 Comments