gravity – Havoc and Consequence

Liquid gravity

Heavy bones weighted like illuminati.
Dark and porous, prone to fits of flight.
Suspended now in sleep as the moon watches.
Casting an orbous eye over this place.
It came without sound, scooping out the soul.
Lifting it up into that lunar landscape.
The silent soul stealer, the moon dancer of dreams.
To be played with only upon consentation with the darkness.
The body, cast aside while the moths played havoc.
Is that starlight in the blood?
Foreign dust in cells that shake and split.
Do these craters mimic the grief that marks me?
If all this is what I see, what lies beyond the solar scene.
That moon gravity and grey seam of space.
Is it just another place.
For me to plan my escape?

23/07/202324/07/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: gravity, moon, soulTags: art, bones, death, dreams, escape, geavity, health, lunar, moon, planet, poem, Poetry, solar, soul, space Leave a comment

Something thought eternal dies

It pulls you to the ground.
Rips inside you.
Plunging into your soul like skeleton hands.
That fear of a solitary future.
The stain of a nothing left behind.
In the absence of another.
You throw up your love onto new terrain.
Heavy now, with a new solo gravity.
The weight of the world.
The weight of a tear.
Crashing inside you.
An inky wave of resolve and refusal.
For your heart was sewn and stitched to another.
And now the wound is left to bleed into nothing.

17/06/202217/06/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: gravity, loneliness, lonely, painTags: art, future, gravity, heart, hurt, lonely, love, pain, passed, poem, Poetry, skeleton, soul, wave 1 Comment

Inside a landslide

Confined and contracted.
Shivering inside a wall that closes in.
You hate it, but you want it.
This is what you asked for.
The quiet falling of silence and time.
Alone with only those voices.
Ringing like bells inside your skull.
Trying hard to forget.
Drowning in regret.
Stuffed inside with gum leaves and liquorice.
Padded and weak.
The future runs across like mercury.
Slipping off your skin that sheds.
Wanting it all to be real, to be over.
Hoping for a climate crises in your veins.
You wished them dead.
Instead, they fed on truth and sincerity.
Hungry are these ghosts.
Licking at such empty souls.
Trapped inside the fall of your ancient Rome.

22/04/202222/04/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: ghost, gravity, hurtTags: fall, ghost, ghosts, gravity, gum, landslide, lies, pain, poem, Poetry, rome, soul, sweets, truth 3 Comments