dying – Havoc and Consequence

REMNANTS OF NO TOMORROW

I stood there waiting, next to a dream.
Thick inky memories puffed up over the sky.
Placing the thought of you, heavy like a stone.
Into my stream of consciousness once again.
Nothing leads to nothing.
It vanishes because it no longer can.
It never was.
And slowly ran, into the depths like a slumbering ghost.
Yet my heart is lapped at by the tide and water lilies.
Each one opening up to the sky, blinding me.
Waiting for the rains, wanting the tears from above.
The fragrance covers the air.
The moment squeezes my heart.
Wrenching the faith and love out through every pour.
I reach across the sea of sorrow and pull you towards;
A dying man.
A crying man.
Something longing for both an end, and a beginning.
I dream away this dream and settle once more to sleep.
Once again, under a blanket of sorrow.

14/01/202514/01/2025 by Mark Ryan Categories: dreams, loss, oceanTags: crying, dream, dreams, dying, flowers, gone, loss, ocean, poem, Poetry, sea, sleep, sorrow, water lillies 2 Comments

Dying Day

Down in the marrow.
Deep in the bone.
Devils and gods, are looking for homes.
Behind every thought.
Nestled in a lie.
The Light of creation is trying to fly.
Slip out of the house.
And down an overgrown path.
Deep in the forests, where untainted angels laugh.
You’ll see once again,.
A stripped away realm.
Buzzing with dreams among chestnuts and elms.
Take off the world.
That drenches your soul.
Disappear here and grow happy and old.
And I will tell tales,
Of who you once were.
It’ll frighten the children if spoken in whisper.
For the ghosts of you,
Is all that remains.
Your skeleton now dances in light without chains.

30/08/2024 by Mark Ryan Categories: end, fairy tales, treeTags: devils, dying, escape, fairytales, forest, god, life, myth, Old, pixie, poem, Poetry, spirit, tale, trees 8 Comments

We die in the dark

She knew of course, the dying light.
The creeping shadows.
The bleeding white.
Her soul had threatened her many a time.
A world turned a sunder.
Bleached by holy turpentine.
She had a choice, before her now.
A heaving heart.
A thankless vow.
To go forth strong, one more contradiction.
That the path be easy.
A mind drowned in benediction.
What halo had burned away the pain.
Of apologetic compromises.
Swallowing such shame.
So she bore her bones and looked to the sky.
She prayed for mercy.
Just another gentle crucify.

20/07/202320/07/2023 by Mark Ryan Categories: dark, death, holyTags: art, darkness, death, dying, ending, god, holy, light, mantra, poem, Poetry, prayer, vow 4 Comments

Horribly perfect

Tasting the warm breath.
Tickling the skin beneath.
God kissing you into death.
Taken, over thirty times the moon dying.
Thirty-one suns burning into your eyes.

I’ll be your winter.
Chilling the bones that crumble and collapse.
And I’ll always be yours.
Silently, as the bird inside stops beating.
Suddenly, only feathers and space.

29/11/202229/11/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, death, godTags: bird, death, decay, dying, feathers, god, moon, poem, Poetry, silence, sun 8 Comments

Roses underneath the pain

Whispers in the light.
Tiny voices hurrying me towards.
This ledge of existence.
Karma crawled over me, covering me like a blanket.
Blocking out the vision which haunted my mind.
I moved beyond winter, down deep into the stomach of an ice age.
Cold and lonely.
My hope flickering like a dying flame.
While nothing came.
No coconut breeze to bring me back to the shore.
No memories, once buried, rose up in a Lazarus tableau.
Indeed, there was no sound but the wind.
Which tore at my rotting flesh like little daggers.
It was then the warmth came.
Inwardly, the calming chemical concert that played in my veins.
It washed over me a picture of you.
Crimson and metallic, hammered into my skull.
For you would be the last thing I ever saw.
A bridge over to the other side.
That final freedom giving goodbye.

19/07/202219/07/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: fate, winterTags: art, chemicals, dying, ending, flame, goodbye, iceage, poem, Poetry, veins, voices, warmth, winter 5 Comments

Pay the ghost

This is what you wanted.
He breathes into my soul.
Sticky air, heavy with the smell of formaldehyde.
Little deers of delight spring into life.
Galloping from my heart to my head.
If only he knew. If only I showed him how.
It is so freeing, no longer living with regret.
Letting the cosmic dance go on without you.
There is still time.
He whispers sweetly, thinking I still cared.
Thinking that what was once, had never shifted.
But inside, it had all died.
Blooms had bruised and fallen to the ground.
The flower water, stagnant now like a swamp of untouched issues.
I smiled a smile that told him nothing.
Letting him think he’d won.
Letting the shadow swallow me once again.
Death hurrying in case I grew new gills.
But it was true, this was what I wanted.
He just never understood, for he could not see.
Trapped in the spectral realm of transcendental adherence.
That this was no longer an ending.
But a beautiful beginning.

01/05/202201/05/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: death, fate, ghostTags: art, beginning, bruise, death, decay, dying, end, fate, flower, ghost, poem, Poetry, whisper 5 Comments

Occasional ruckus

Wrapped in the 21^st century.
Shattering all trauma.
Which built against little empires.
Punching blindly in this fight for life.
Yet asked not to kill.

Die a little.
Crying happiness.
Lying slowly.
Counting stars.

Face first on the concrete.
Unwrapping the other side.
A tidied dream of destroying how it was.
The questions move me to new terrain.
Setting fires to light my way.

03/09/202102/09/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: change, fire, tomorrowTags: anger, change, dying, empire, fight, fire, life, lying, poem, Poetry, stars, survive, time, tomorrow, world 5 Comments

I came to disappear

Through wanderings of a hallowed heart.
That blesses the soil it treads upon.
Within it tolls a silent bell.
Which calls for time and distance.
And leave me not in that harried place.
Of ill begotten souls and woe.
That race about like dying rats.
And burn the imaginative pith to shadows.
We come alone, and all in pieces.
Figuring out where it all began.
I came out of the dark,
Yet too close to the sun.
Struggling to find a path.
Now watch me disappear.

27/05/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: dark, light, lostTags: art, darkness, death, disappear, dying, earth, journey, light, lost, path, poem, Poetry, shadows, siol, sun, time 2 Comments