the appearance, an impression to please
living buried underneath, tucked inside to reside in need
wanting stains the hands of hope, to bend a knee and pray
understanding madness, as a cold still reach
the peaks of destiny’s belief
shadow’s our semblance, long before we could see
a tedious churning thickness
disturbed, requires cover for the comfort of restraint
breathing in the deep, to calm this keep
losing ground to stay clear, the voice of fear
a volatile sound, now rounded and fit for chain
freedom is the Idea realized and never ever seen
the scourge, calls to be wound down for spite
winding it and winding it once again
the tighter the twist, until we cannot fix
the risk and the urge to tighten again
until the weight of knowing, is sure to weaken
a turning of events borders the peaceful calm surface
the appearance, an impression to please
the pretty place perfect for a keepsake
preciously smothered to appear tame, kept in a frame
refusing to entertain or warn with her Screams
misery holds tight her hammer and swings  
                                                                      
Terry D’Arcy-Ryan

eyes meet, the intimate adore
face to face, lips gently brush
desire delivered in the click of a lock
hands clutched around your neck
the shock, the tightening hold
a gripping strength, a slow squeeze
the mind dazed, the hunt to breathe
hardwired impulse, the raw surging force
reaching, touching, clawing a hands grip
the steadfast capture, enforcing an iron reap
the heat and hiss of a monster, slices in your ear
tears fall for God’s wretched care
dry upon your cheek, the final kiss
the silent suffocation, an impression so sincere

pain defends the will to see and breathe clear
aware adorns the eyes, in pictures of reminisce
the danger of your kiss, the pace in your violent embrace
the power of your stare, hands fast on my neck
viselike is the hold, so I can feel reborn
to stand on the furthest edge
and trespass into the abyss

planted deep, thriving sweet
growing, entangled in a reach
extending into many more
beneath a shallow surface
there is no abyss, I am the abyss
the abyss resides inside me
waiting in the dark, flourishing  

Terry D'Arcy-Ryan