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ryn Dec 15
Grant him this night
For he longs for the cold embrace

As he lays haphazardly
In a universe seemingly displaced

Swallow whole
And serve nothingness like you once did

Cast the black
For he’s all ready and intrepid
ryn Dec 13
As the ink grows a tad eager,
the heart beats a little faster.
To free the catch in my throat,
is a folly that I never could learn.
And this fire in my being that has my tongue...
forever could burn.
ryn Dec 13
.
put us down to slumber’s deep
pay no mind to keepers’ keep
afford no mercy as takers creep
shed not tears for the night’s unsleep

.
ryn Feb 28
The curtains will close,
only if we’ll allow it.

Not now…
Not at each darkened hour -
where the cycle of ticking hands
seem to wipe clean, the ash and dust
off the faces of every clock.

                     •••

When the curtains finally do close…
And a little too late…

May the drapery be large enough
to grant eternal peace
and enshroud all the bodies that lay

but not our eyes…


Our hearts…


Our resolve…
ryn Jan 26
As he stand rooted -
mesmerised by the dance of lashes.
Alluring glances
from such beguiling eyes.

A flame then rekindled,
flickering weak…
Where once a chapter had died.

A foreign beating…
A rhythm he once knew and played.
Fuelled in trickles,
till a fire was stoked.

•••

He still stands frozen,
entranced and enamoured,
by the irises that sang a tune
too familiar.

Resurrecting joy
while planting the seed of cancer
only time will nurture.
ryn Jan 14
.
They all tell the same story.
Each in their very own way.

How they share the same canvas,
yet revel the distance between.
At times twinkle in unison -
their secret code.
Wilfully scattered
across the universe.

The stars;
They’d still tell the same,
old story,
Even though,
the words would’ve changed.
They’d hum the same tune…
To what ears that still listen.

But stubborn I am,
as my heart
would whisper -
loudly into the quiet.
As if to slake the thirst
and quell the fires…
The remains of the love…
Of ages come.


.
ryn Jan 4
Promises of respite
from sallowed ashes,

adorned with feathers
from a thousand culled doves.

Haplessly wishing that freedom
comes soon.

A hope ensnared
in the clench
of crimson-stained gloves.
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