Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2017 · 300
Ryan Galloway Jun 2017
Unwind within me.
Oh pain,
I knotted you up,
Crudely looped and tore at you,
Yet your strands were too strong,
Those ropes that bit into my flesh
Bound my wrists, held my legs.
I knotted you up
Into a bundle I could hold
Look at and investigate
Gain comfort from keeping you in my sights.
Better than not knowing your devious work
Not knowing which parts of my life
You were immobilizing.
I know you now,
I can see where you begin,
That frayed end,
Yet in the midst of the knots
I can’t find your resolution.
As I try to unwind you
Work this pain through
It is like trying to feed thread
through the eye of a needle.
These knots have become a hindrance
Trying to feed you through my mouth
Onto a page,
and now holding you has gained it’s own kind of pain
like I may never be rid of you.
I pray, unwind within me
Flee from me for I have had my fill,
Yet I know you won’t
For it was I who knotted you up,
So I must sit here and ceremoniously,
Ritually, unbind you.
Mar 2017 · 534
Your Poem
Ryan Galloway Mar 2017
I haven’t written you a love song,
not from any lack of romance
for you color my skies with your eyes
and your lips flood my mind with irrational thoughts.
I often write of made up lullabies shared over nights we haven’t had,
or some imaginary girl falling for this made up guy,
that doesn’t sound anything like you or me.
I don’t know what stills my lips
when trying to write of the night skies we’ve shared,
for they are the most beautiful ones I’ve seen.
I think it may be because,
even if I wrote with the most complex and beautiful language
it would never do you, or the days we spent
watching movies in the back of my truck, any justice.
Our love is messy and incomprehensible
mainly because I still can’t translate what I feel
when your hands brush against mine, gently yet with excitement,
as if there were magnets in them that just had to connect with mine.
It’s not poetic, it’s cheesy, and messy,
but it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.
So please take this convoluted attempt to work out my feelings,
as your love song, my confusing, jumbled, and truthful ode to you,
the muse to all the fantasies I write.
Feb 2017 · 339
Gardens of Weeds
Ryan Galloway Feb 2017
I wish I had known that holding onto this anger so tightly would make it take root.
Others would talk of joy being a seed that sprouted in time of oppression and indecency,
Yet I have found this to apply to all.
What you plant will grow.
What you feed will take root,
And anger, like a ****, will choke all else out.
A little seed, tossed by the wayside, without purpose, or design, has grown to swallow my mind.
Choking off sustenance from my joy, peace, and love.
It made me feel better for a time, it truly did.
It seemed dignified and eased the pain.
So I didn't get rid of it.
What you plant will grow.
Feb 2017 · 561
Ethereal beauty
Ryan Galloway Feb 2017
There was something about the way she would close her eyes when listening to a song she liked.
It was as if she was creating a world behind her eyelids, moving along with the lilting lullabies she enjoyed so much.
When her eyes would eventually flutter open, she would try to hide it, but I would see a flash of sadness.
I was lost in her ethereal nature. Her fingers that danced through blades of grass that only she could see.
Weaving her way through shadowy trees planted in wide reaching glades.
Splashing through puddles like they were oceans and she, the storm, stirring tempests within them.
A queen, was she, crowned with clouds dictating orders to imaginary soldiers,
to save the inhabitants of the land.
Though her eyes were always seeing beautiful things, mine were only graced with her, and that was more than enough.
Feb 2017 · 249
Cynical Promises
Ryan Galloway Feb 2017
She was quiet
as if thinking of her favorite story, or song
yet I, knowing them all
knew that this couldn’t be the reason
for her sudden silence.
My heart beat quickens
her eyebrows arch,
and I remember the day we met
in the back table of the coffee shop she loved.
I said hello, and she said “why?
Where could this go?"
She said “we could talk.”
“you could buy me a cup of what you may suppose
would be my favorite coffee.
Probably some darker roast
with some mixture of cream
highlighting the coffee’s floral notes.
I would pretend to like it
though you would later find I only drink tea.
We would leave, and I would give you my number
because I’m awkward, and by the look of things,
we would talk about our wants, our desires, and dreams,
and stay here way too late, I would get more coffee
to complete my act,
and by the end of the night you would probably have swept me off my feet.
We could go on a hundred more date,
and find that we love each other.
We may last a couple more months, or years,
but we would end up here.
Me sitting with nothing to say,
and you too sad to move on.”
I said, putting down the coffee I had bought for her,
“well the first part sounded good.”
As her mouth draws into a line, I fear we may have reached the end.
My heartbeat races, knowing from the beginning how this would go.
She would say “this isn’t working anymore, this thing we’ve tricked
ourselves to believe was going somewhere.”
and I will try to capture everything, the look of her hair, the gleam in her eyes
to maybe save my memories from the coming crash.
She begins to talk with hesitance in her voice,
something that I haven’t heard there many times before.
“I know I made a promise, at the beginning of this thing,
I know you pressed on hoping for the best,
and I know I may have eventually led you to believe
that we had beat the odds, or at least my dim look at them.
You know I’m a mess, a cynic, and even a ****, but you stayed
and kept hoping.
Maybe it’s contagious because I have found myself hoping too.
Hoping my predictions were wrong,
and I think, looking at you,
looking at us, I have never wanted to be wrong more in my entire life."
Feb 2017 · 229
Ryan Galloway Feb 2017
I am spaced out, distant, bored.
The teacher is running on and on,
while I am lost in some other world
tracing storylines of heroes, kings,
princesses, knights, jesters, and queens.
Writing romance beyond any I could ever wish for myself.
My pen is running across the paper,
writing down my thoughts and figures,
hoping it may somehow make it more real,
like if I poured enough of myself into these scratchings
they may leap from the page into the air
and bring my narrative to life.
I would not go as far as to call myself a writer, a poet, a dreamer,
but I do write and I do dream, and I put more of my emotion on a page
than I do into anybody or anything.
I lose myself to worlds, in which I only visit,
yet they are more home to me than any I know.
I come to with the ringing of a bell, and find that I had spent
the past hour staring at this beautiful girl,
ethereal and wrapped in light from the barred over windows,
long blonde hair, brown eyes, and earphones perched in her ears.
Thinking I may still be daydreaming, I blink a few times and time starts to still.
She smiles bashfully, knowing I had realized my mistake, and gathers her things.
Leaving me to think, maybe the story I’m living isn’t that bad,
and perhaps dreams are even better when they are real.
Feb 2017 · 509
Flighty Dreams
Ryan Galloway Feb 2017
It was in the way she looked at me.
A tenderness I hadn’t seen,
That made me wish that we
were the only ones to see these stars
and dream these dreams.
I watched her walk down the aisle
with a bouquet of rain, dandelions, and beautiful things.
We were kids, yet we held our dreams in our hands
hoping to grasp tightly to them as long as we could,
yet loosely enough for them to take flight
carrying us by their kite-strings.
Dreams made of cotton and twine.
Trying to put together a masterpiece
one piece at a time.
It was in the way she looked at me
that made me see,
I would do anything to build a life
and tie together dreams
to make something beautiful
for her to see.
Oct 2016 · 318
Accidental Villain
Ryan Galloway Oct 2016
I have been a hero to some
A villain to others.
I am woven throughout many stories.
I am sometimes the voice of reason,
Other times the voice of regret.
I have played a part in victories
As well as quite a few defeats.
Sometimes I lose myself in the unintentional damage I have done,
And try to dig myself out with the damage done to me, but it always falters.
I think the problem is
I am quick to forgive those who harm me
But can't forgive myself for what I've done to them.
Oct 2016 · 380
Dear, former friend
Ryan Galloway Oct 2016
The air of brotherhood once flowed so freely between us.
Midnight hours coming with no notice and little care.
Silences that stretched through the night,
A conversation which spoke the most profound sentiments of fellowship.
Though you may quickly wish away those days,
Or rather read them with regret.
I am not so quick to vilify the part you’ve played in this story.
Though the blood between us has froze,
and though the pain you have caused is insurmountable,
I will not make you a villain, like you have made me.
Sep 2016 · 199
Ryan Galloway Sep 2016
She was in the space between here and there.
You see, I try to jump from point a to point b, without a thought to the steps in between.
I found the search for meaning in the journey to be futile,
Yet that is where I found her.
She sat at a coffee shop, sipping on tea,
While reading the eyes of the shadows moving through these spaces,
Familiar haunts like me, unrealized silhouettes,
Without gravity in the moment, yet promising authenticity in a day that was as fantastical as they were.
Eyes were drawn to her,
the way that she filled up the room,
the only physical thing, in this group of ghosts, shadows
those betrayed by promise and hope
and hoping the world would pay them back
for the loan, and a poor one at that
a miserable job for a dilapidated home
doorways they won’t grace but for those sacred few hours
food for kids who don’t see enough of them as is
Now don’t get me wrong, I did see it
I saw it in her fingers,
that tired fiddling as if her hands couldn’t stop moving
in fear that they couldn’t get started again
In the way her mouth sat, trying to smile
but still heavy as if unspoken words were weighing them down.
Her eyes stared as though she was so alone in this alien world.
She lived in the in-between, and that is were I found her.
For a fleeting moment I wanted to stop.
To slow down and hear her story.
This mystic individual of substance in an immaterial world,
But my feet wouldn’t stop, my hands wouldn’t stop moving.
I had forgotten how to slow down and I found myself orbiting her
as a tiny comet would get caught in the gravity of some celestial sphere.
I was merely a ghost, a common haunt,
Passing through this physical space for merely a moment.
Aug 2016 · 204
Ryan Galloway Aug 2016
"This is how I’m going to die”
The thought echo’s through my mind,
As her silhouette slowly moves in front of me.
I knew her shape well enough.
I knew she preferred sun-dresses on days like this,
And I knew she would be reading today’s paper,
Liking the way the coarse paper felt in her hands.
I knew that this was her favorite coffee shop
Because it was directly across
From a flower stand which filled the air
With a light and sweet perfume.
So as she sat in the seat across from me,
and waited for my welcome before she could resume
reading the paper, which she read
with passing interest,
I was left with only this thought,
This is how I’m going to die,
Or perhaps this is how I wish to die,
Wishing and wanting more than anything in my life.
To pass into whatever is beyond knowing as much of this woman,
my love,
To hold as much of her as I could.
Aug 2016 · 377
Fairy Lights
Ryan Galloway Aug 2016
The lights in the trees
Follow me home.
They come to me
When I am alone.
There is longing inside
Their fanciful minds,
Or perhaps they are merely echoing mine.
I made them out to be
These mystical beasts,
But now I believe
They may be me.
Aug 2016 · 274
The Poetry of Life
Ryan Galloway Aug 2016
If life fit in a line, it would be a horrible poem.
Not that it’s too messy, for some of the best poetry speak of tragedy as romance or vice versa, and I have never heard of a greater mess.
Nor that it is too scattered, for some of the best narratives lie in the tales of drug-addled minds.
The poet must fictionalize life and love to make it readable, and even then I am often uninterested in reading it.
Aug 2016 · 576
Fleeting Joy
Ryan Galloway Aug 2016
I wish that joy etched it's name into my bones, the way despair does.
Happiness is flighty and wisp-like,
While sorrow sinks and clings to hope until it erodes it all away.
Exuberance doesn't follow one around for more than a day, a season, a minute, yet depression can stalk it's prey for a lifetime.
My main thought is that, if joy is so good, why does it leave so quickly, and if despair is so bad why do I cling to it so tightly.
Jul 2016 · 244
Human Debt
Ryan Galloway Jul 2016
We sat there not knowing why or how. Though there was consciousness written on the signs in our hands, our hearts were devoid of the words. It had been too long. We had wept too much. Though we still bled, as all do, we didn’t bleed red, for red was human and we had transcended… descended… such a state.
No one had won. All had lost. We paid such a price to what needed to be done that everyone was left with such a human debt, a word that had come to define this day to day existence. Debt, we had spent all we had, borrowed from each other and now here we sit. Our cries remained unheard. We canaries in the mine shouted until we ran out of breath, and though we now lie dead, the miners are still digging up their riches remaining deaf to our cries.
Know that we tried. When the collapse comes, know that we screamed our loudest. Bled until there was none.
Jun 2016 · 305
Ryan Galloway Jun 2016
I pick at the edges
Of this worn tapestry
As if it may bring me peace
Jun 2016 · 290
An Amicable Separation
Ryan Galloway Jun 2016
My heart and my head disagree on what is best for my body
So they have decided
To divide
To amicably separate
And go their own ways
Though my mind sings the songs of reason and intellect
My heart writes serenades of love and fellowship
The two egotistical beasts falsely believe
That one is stronger without the other
Or that perhaps they may force the other to see reason
I cannot be controlled nor tethered by reason,
I cannot be set free by unbridled creativity
You see art must be real
Though it may be idealized
Or greatly manipulated
You see imagination without mind
Are thoughts without language
And without heart
It is words without meaning
So it is unknown how this prevalent divorce of the two
May benefit anyone or anything
Jun 2016 · 531
Ryan Galloway Jun 2016
If I only had today
It would be enough
To remember the pain
Of my family.
Those born from the same earth as me.
To feel the sorrow of those weeping.
To mourn with those who are mourning.
I would paint myself black
With the soot made mud
With the tears of the oppressed
Of those slaughtered in cold blood
I pray that if I only had today
I would spend it not focused on me
But, rather, those who are on their knees.
If I could only take their pain
And lay it in my grave,
That would be enough.
Jun 2016 · 392
Ryan Galloway Jun 2016
I have to believe that in the frail light
Of this ever darkening night
That our silhouettes will somehow escape.
Will run away from us,
From this place
Of harsh words
And sharp realities.
These words which currently impale me
Cast no shadow,
So they must not be real
Or more so less real than you and me sitting here.
Gazing at each other
As lovers do.
Perhaps, though we may end
And dissipate into the thickening air,
Our shadows may maintain some sort of secret love affair.
Perhaps our silhouettes may remain star-crossed lovers
Running away to meet under moonlight.
So even though there is finality on your breath
And a chill running across the absence your hand left on my chest
I have to believe
That there must still be a remnant of you in love with me.
May 2016 · 266
Unable Artist
Ryan Galloway May 2016
He died knowing how beautiful the stars are
Yet without the tongue to form the words
He died watching the beauty of a spring storm
Yet without the hands to paint them
He died hearing a young woman speaking prose
To the man who held her terribly close
Yet he was without the mind to put it to strings
To place it in the bells of the brass horns
He died with a broken heart
Though never held by anyone
He was without the voice to sing it out
As a wailing shout and have others call it honest
You see the fatal crime was not a mundane life lived to death
But rather death laying on a man ever since he was a sickly kid

It is not known from where a reaper comes
But perhaps it is from an artist, dead, before he ever lived
Apr 2016 · 331
Ryan Galloway Apr 2016
I am young
Yet I'm unwilling to say that this
Makes me less
My eyes may not have seen the horrors
Of days gone by
But my generation has seen their own
I know
That experience is a ware
Held by the number of years
And wisdom to be bought by days
Yet these are things not necessary
To giving my number of days meaning
What if we measured worth by a number
Our experiences by our friends
Our years spent helping each other
And measured our wisdom
By the tiring work of our hands
What if the whispered compassion
Spoken over broken hearts
And the healing that friendly words
Have brought
Counted more in measuring a man
Than the number of wars he's fought
I know a life is a wonderful thing to share
But ours isn't worth any less
Based on our number of years
Apr 2016 · 718
Ryan Galloway Apr 2016
Who is a poet?
What is poetry?
Does it bleed from the mouths
Of those oppressed by tyranny
Does it stick to the lips of lovers
Like freshly ripe strawberries
Does it lie in the lines of the workman's hands
Like the dirt of the freshly tilled land
Does it exist in the hearts of man
To be struck out, serenaded, or wizened
Does it seep from our fingertips
As a sap that heals our aching bones
When humanity is the illness
And suffering the symptom
Poetry is
The desperately sought after medicine
Apr 2016 · 346
Ryan Galloway Apr 2016
As if the stars were falling
And I, a speck of the skies
Feared for my minuscule life
I can't think for those who once held me up
Have let go
The ties I thought were so strong
Have decomposed
And I am falling like a meteor
Being tossed from its celestial home
And I am bracing for impact
Mar 2016 · 251
Letting go
Ryan Galloway Mar 2016
I'm sorry the clouds no longer spell your name
That the wind doesn't sing
An inspired symphony
That only we know is about you
I'm sorry that the spring
No longer blooms
Only to be graced by visions of you
That the grass no longer makes room
For your mid afternoon wanderings
Nor holds your form for hours after you move
I'm sorry that my touch can no longer perceive
The dreams behind your light blue eyes
And that I can no longer differentiate
Blonde hair from your once spectacular gold
But above all else
I'm sorry that though the storm hit us both
It was I who let go
Mar 2016 · 274
Ryan Galloway Mar 2016
I'll remember your absence
For its the only thing you left
The empty seat next to me
The oddly cold feeling on my chest
The missing cups of cold tea
With only a tad left
Placed mindlessly
In the midst of beautiful thoughtful revelries
When your fingers left indentions in your dress
Indentions in the grass where you slept
As if they were just as hesitant
To see you leave
That they held your shape just to remember you were there
I'll remember your absence
For its the only thing you left
Mar 2016 · 286
Ryan Galloway Mar 2016
It seems the stars are singing
Or perhaps their screaming
And I'm just hopeful
That though
The night sky is burning
It's light
May be serenading us to sleep
But I doubt it
I guess that's the foolishness of poetry
Or perhaps it's the beauty
I always get the two mixed up
Ascribing autonomy
To distant things
And applying them to my life
My weak narrative
My minuscule perspective
So I guess it may be beauty to believe
That such magnificent things may exist
To give me a vocabulary to describe you
Feb 2016 · 237
Midnight's Curse
Ryan Galloway Feb 2016
Oh how the dark has closed around me
There was a time in which I would breathe it in
Let it flood my nose and drown my lips
Yet I have grown to hate the taste
It once was so sweet
Though it loomed like death it was as sweet as love
Now as the night has taken me as its own
I look in distaste at the cup that I hold
The coffee that I once held dear
Has long ago gotten cold
Feb 2016 · 532
Ryan Galloway Feb 2016
In you, I see
The flowers of the field
Opening to a new spring
I see
The softly blowing wind
On a warm summer day
I see
The light filtering through
Fresh autumn leaves
I see
The snow falling afresh
On newly barren eaves
I know that I hold no claim
For the beauty of the field
Nor the grace of your hand
Or these exalted features
Yet I see it as my responsibility
To not leave them unobserved
Though no bird flys for an audience
Nor any flower bloom for an applause
Such beauty has been painted to be observed
By some director
Setting forth a play
So I watch as you move gracefully through these scenes
You have found an audience by my eyes
I will watch such beauty dance across my fingertips
Calling it love, this careful movement, for I know no else
God has placed a masterpiece upon my lips
A symphony laced through my hair
And I stand, the most grateful of audiences.
Jan 2016 · 269
Ryan Galloway Jan 2016
No, You see I know
I already know
My faults, my atrocities
I trace them at night
I run my fingers through them
And catch their edges
As if they were the keys
To these rusty old things
That I locked away long ago
They are the ghosts
Those things so close
I couldn't cut them away in fear
That I would cut myself
Yet they whisper things
And in the darkness I listen
You see I trace their edges
Like a crime scene to tell me where they lie
Yet I am the one struggling
With these wisps of demons
I know my faults
And I'm afraid they have become me.
Jan 2016 · 632
Ryan Galloway Jan 2016
You were as beautiful as the rain
And just as scarce
My love for you a river
Yet the Sun has run it dry
For I gave and you took eternal
Though the sky grew bloated
And the clouds drank their fill
They slowly blew to distant lands
And rather watered their fields
So if you are rain
And I a river
Carving through the glen
I gave freely from my banks
Yet you have brought my famine
Jan 2016 · 267
Wonderfully Odd
Ryan Galloway Jan 2016
I watch, the way in which you move
Seemingly floating through a crowded room
With space lying in the pupils of your eyes
Yet you remain present
Ensuring that all you see and all who see you
Know the true gratitude, that saturates your lips
I look at you and see a moon
Reflecting the essence of stars
Into this stifling room
I rest with my arms in my lap and my hands on my chin
Attempting to close myself off from the pressure of people
Pressing on my consciousness as if in an attempt
To suffocate it
And I know that you feel the same
Or perhaps only similarly
The point being, you are as aware of this lack of space as I am
Yet as it is causing me to clench my teeth
To want to recede into a point of singularity
In which I can avoid encroaching on anybody
You expand,
You fill the space with your breath
Forcing others to recognize who you are
You're magnificent in the way a force of nature is
So unknowable that all we can do is observe
How truly wonderfully odd you are
Dec 2015 · 345
Propensity For Pride
Ryan Galloway Dec 2015
I have not the propensity for pride
For all possible paths I have taken, away from my God
All forbidden fruit I have tasted
With the requirement set I have fallen short time and time again
So now that I stand by his grace alone
May I not cast out those who falter where I once was
Rather show them the path laid out for me
To stand where I am today.
Dec 2015 · 657
Ryan Galloway Dec 2015
I promise to kiss your forehead
To drive away all thoughts of self-doubt
And the weight of the depression
Hanging round your neck like lead
Pulling your eyes toward the ground
I promise to kiss your hands
To make them strong
For I know that you think them to be weak
But Oh what strength lies asleep in your fingertips
I will kiss them awake
And make you see the marvelous things
That lie at the edges of your reach
And I promise to kiss your lips
As if we were drowning
Maybe we are
For I have lost the taste of air
And replaced it with your presence
And I have yet to decide which is more essential
To my survival
For though my lungs burn
I seem to believe it is from not being able to consume
Enough of you
To sustain my love
I promise to devote myself to you
For though my covenants may seem
Somewhat self-deprecating
Making me a martyr to my desire
Rather as you can see
These promises are rather selfish
For I cannot foresee
A future in which you are in any way separate from me.
Dec 2015 · 468
Ryan Galloway Dec 2015
They say, your palms tell stories
With flesh as pages and indentions as the vocabulary
Yet I wonder where I lie in the palm of your hand
Am I that scar you got when you were six
Trying to cut your handprint out of colorful pages
Or that callous you have from caring for your garden
And always holding onto things, and people, far too tight
Now that I think of it your hand is a reflection of who you are
I love how it tells a story with every line
How it speaks of your beauty with every imperfection
But most importantly, I love how it fits perfectly into mine.
Dec 2015 · 481
Ryan Galloway Dec 2015
Though there are
Nights in which
You and me sit
At a stifling distance
It is this darkness
By which I define us
Not you and me specifically
But rather the concept
The idea of a comprehensive
All inclusive
Sense of us
That though we distance ourselves
We are never separate
There is no distance we could run
Which would tear us from this existential thought
That we are one and should treat others as such
That service to others is service to oneself
That even in this, the darkest of nights,
In which the treacherous and the heartbroken
Walk the same sidewalks
That we belong to the same heart
And when one bleeds, it starves us all.
Dec 2015 · 633
Ryan Galloway Dec 2015
The way you look
The way you look at me
The way you see
It is all so enticing
I keep repeating
Like it is some kind of puzzle piece
And I'm trying to find where it fits
I don't know
I'm stupid, I should be able to say what I know and what I want
Yet I can only repeat and rhyme
Calling it poetry, yet it is a sad excuse on all levels
I know not all thoughts are beautiful
Rather many are mundane
Yet that is hard to believe
When many of my thoughts consist of you
And therefore are inherently some of the most beautiful things to think
So I write poetry
Calling it romance
Love, the muse
Love the muse
You see repetition is my default
Systematically placing stress on one word then the other
Changing and transforming the overarching meaning
Your lips
Your lips on mine
These thoughts lie in the back of my thoughts
And are all I can think about
Dec 2015 · 221
Ryan Galloway Dec 2015
Though the darkness has bound itself fastly to me
It is this light that has given me hope
I say that out of a lack of words
For it seems that the holy requires some vast vocabulary
Existing in conversations between theologians
Pastors and well versed, tired and worn, ministers
Yet I have lost the language, it has been torn
From mind by these spindly fingers
That have now bound themselves to my heel
So all I can say is hope
For in that light I felt the lessening of this grip
It has faltered giving me reason to think
That this strength is merely an illusion
And the muscles that keeps this darkness fastened around me
Are truly and unequivocally weak.
Dec 2015 · 845
Ryan Galloway Dec 2015
There has been a corruption
A corruption so deep and pervasive
That no one remains unaffected
In the blood of man
A curse takes hold of those
Who remain slaves to this *******
Yet in his grace the lord offered a way
A path to salvation
Deliverance from the toil that binds our mind to the grey earth
In that celestial moment which left that guiding star shining bright
To announce the coming of such a gift
That the world would never be the same
Oh, our God has made a way
By his sacrifice of purity
By slaying his own perfection
On an altar and offered it to us
And in such a moment saved us from the corruption
To which we were enslaved.
Dec 2015 · 789
Ryan Galloway Dec 2015
The color of her hair
The way in which her eyes search the air
For the invisible cogs of the galaxies
Moving in sync
With the machinery within
She shares a heartbeat with me
And the movement of the stars
The intermingling between the bodies of the seas
Parallels ours
Oh how your eyes mirror
Such magnificent things
And how I desire to see
Your world through these lenses
For eternity, or today,
Whichever comes first
Nov 2015 · 783
Ryan Galloway Nov 2015
Words are the seeds of rebellion
A simple sentence may imprint a design of unrest
On the minds of the oppressed
And when watered by the unending tears
Of the motherless child
Of the widow or widower
These seeds spring eternal as weeds in the gardens of the oppressors
How quickly these starving plants grow
In the perceived beauty of the truly demented souls
Of those who used the corpses of the tormented as the topsoil
For their design of a utopia
The weeds of unrest will rise in the minds of those who have lost all
In a sacrifice for the comfort of those who walk above them
They will choke the oxygen
From the society
Who survives off of them
Those who carry the world on their backs
Words are the seeds of rebellion
And they are those who will stand
When these perverted gardens fall around them
Nov 2015 · 1.0k
Post-apocalyptic poetry
Ryan Galloway Nov 2015
The smoke of the ashes darkens my already ebony lungs
A black that knows no bounds has settled on the desolate ground
Being what caused this plague in the first place
The sunrise no longer has meaning
With no hope for the day to come
For today will be the same as all preceding ones
So I sit
And I write
Because that is what I do
Yet I no longer write of beauty nor love
For both have been stifled by the oppression of such a complete eradication
Of all the things I once admired
The things that lined the pages of all my pieces
So as I sit and watch the smoke rise from my cup
Seeing others walk by enticed
By whatever is on their devices
I put down my pen and close my book
For there is no longer anything to write or romanticize
To admire
If there is no longer anyone to look
Nov 2015 · 299
Beyond Death
Ryan Galloway Nov 2015
Where will you lie if you are right
In the ground with all those who have died
Those who's names are inscribed in the marble above
Their acts may be printed in some book
Or their love may be remembered by those who held their hearts
Remembered by yellowing love letters
Scribed by shaking hands
But if you are right it is worthless
Though knowledge may comfort us in our death
You will receive no solace in being correct
For you won't exist
Your mind won't be there to comprehend
The justified emotions of being right
But what if you're wrong
What if the discarded message of salvation
Was more essential than you could have ever known
What if there is a father who will weep
Knowing that you threw away his grasping hand
And rather chose to harshly descend
In a sorrow so deep and unknown that our earthly minds can't comprehend it
So if you're right there is nothing
No consequence
But if you're wrong
Nov 2015 · 661
Ryan Galloway Nov 2015
Hope has thrived in the veins of sinful men
For you have willed it to be so
A population which had spit in your face
And turned away
Time and time again
Oh, how the mighty fall to the hand of corruption
Decomposition befalls their morals
Yet you lived
Though clothed in humility
Was king over all
And never did your head fall to temptation
Planting that seed of hope
That we can find salvation
In your steadfast love
For on that cross wasn't a pillar of prideful strength
Standing against the corruption of humanity
But rather a ladder to transcend damnation
And ascend past tyranny
The tyranny of men who remain in their lustful ways
Yet salvation remains outstretched to them
And there lies the foundation of hope
That though you lived in a condemned world
You didn't come to condemn the world.
Nov 2015 · 284
Ryan Galloway Nov 2015
That though we be mighty
Constellations fighting for our place in the sky
We stand motionless
For though we sing glory
It is not of our own power
Our ability lies not in our bodies
But of the one who set them in motion
We rotate and gravitate towards the magnificence we are centered on
Careening out from that galactic commencement
Which set this universally complex series of events
And all we can do is sit and observe the glory of him
He who placed and breathed his life into
We pitiful beasts
So though we be mighty
It is unto he
That is placed all glory and honor forever
Oct 2015 · 282
Baby Girl
Ryan Galloway Oct 2015
She was born on a cold winter day
As the doctors brought her into the room
They introduced her as a beautiful baby girl
Out of no effort of her own
Oct 2015 · 291
Ryan Galloway Oct 2015
When the world thins
And my senses become hollow
I can still define the lines of your fingertips
When colors dull
And light slowly bends
I can still find the soft hues of your warm auburn eyes
When my breath runs away
And I can't slow the beating in my chest
The sight of you is where I find my rest
Oh how the way you look at me stills my heart
And though my mind may still scream
And my aimless anxiety may steal reason from me
I can endure knowing the clarity you bring
Oct 2015 · 225
Ryan Galloway Oct 2015
Oh how the cursed ground
Opens before me
Ready to swallow the sins
By which my hands are bound
Though it is in my trespasses I hide
It is by Christ's salvation I am found
So though my flesh will perish
And return to the soil from which it came
My soul will live on
In the name which has claimed it as its own
Though flesh will join flesh
In that gaping pit
It is the breath of life which will transcend
Oct 2015 · 347
Precarious Sanctuary
Ryan Galloway Oct 2015
I promise to always choose love
To always choose her
I promise my love
To only her
This sanctuary can't contain my sacrilege
Yet I stand
My blasphemous self
Standing contrary to the crucifix
Swinging precariously
On a wall of my own making
I built this building
On the prayers of a broken kid
And they are cracking
There are faults in the foundation
And I'm afraid they're beyond fixing
Oct 2015 · 215
Ryan Galloway Oct 2015
I have forgotten what yesterday felt like
What it was like to never have known the way you smile
To not know the way your eyes light up
As you look at the stars
Drawing and connecting the lines between
Into paintings
Being traced by your eager fingertips
I have forgotten what it was like to not see
The way that you care and love without cease
I no longer know how I could go a day without thinking
About the ways in which your wonderful mind works
Taking paths that I have never seen
I have forgotten what it was like to never hold your hand
And now I pray with all that I am
That I will never have to remember
What I’ve forgotten
Ever again.
Oct 2015 · 354
Futile Dreams
Ryan Galloway Oct 2015
Oh how stars fall
Or rather not
For though it may seem
As if these celestial bodies
Could become dislodged from their places in our sky's
Rather what we see is fiery dust
Flying through our hopeful minds
Being glorified as these magnificent beings
So the things we place our wishes on
Though we think they are permanent fixtures of infinite strength
Thinking as if those shooting stars will fly forever
They are instead greatly brief in their existence
What we see is the end
Of their long flight across space
So perhaps it is a good picture of a dream
Living a far flung life
Until it reaches reality
And what may seem
As a streak across the sky
Is really it's descent to the ground
Next page