Ryn's a young poet from S'pore
Whose poems are now folklore
They're lighter than air
They give flight to despair
Your sanity they will restore!

Take heed, but do
not take hold...memory
is more than can be
remembered.
From personal, to
collective... by
disjunction it will be forgotten.
As if its shapelessness were a ripple,
touching on itself to be--
to remember...till it must
adhere to the loss of its round.
Truly, memory is more than
can be remembered,
minds are drawn out by lack
of distinction.

When my best friend died
I was left with almost nothing
My loving words were dried.
and my heart wouldn't sing

We held a speech his sister and I
and we praised him to the skies
there was told not a single lie
in this ocean of silent cries

My words and his ears never met
A lot of kind and unspoken words
I held in my heart of regret
like a nest full of newborn birds

But I woke up in my bed
More lucky than glad
Because my friend was not dead
It was just a nightmare I had

I called him on the phone
And I opened up my chest
To let the truth be known
That truly he is the best.