Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
ryn Feb 2016
.
                         
O         
         o       o
O          
                  O      o        
O    
•fill our beak-
er with un-
told chem-
icals•com-
patible  so-
lvents that
fizz... with
bubbles•m-
ix them in to get
the most homogene-
ous of solutions•introdu-
ce heat in the likes of passion
•never a clean reaction, there will
be residue• never right the first time,
failed attempts will be a few......• but once
distilled from undesirable impurity•........then
handle the mixture with utmost sensitivity........•
you'll get a result that can't be bought with money•
because this love in our hearts is the product of



pure chemistry•

.
ryn Feb 2016
I once professed my love to the wind...*    

I had professed that I admired the way
     it had caressed my face.  
           The way it cupped my cheeks    
   and combed through
                 my tousled hair.

I once professed my love to the wind...    

I had professed that I was infinitely enamoured        
with its playful but gentle ways.            
The way it would upset            
the serenity of my clothes.      
          The way it would engulf me cool        
on a hot sunny day. 

I once professed my love to the wind...    

I had professed that I get addicted to the way
it would reach into my lungs  
and abscond with my breath.    
Leaving me asphyxiated for a brief moment      
before mischievously  
introducing new air;
hale and fresh.  

I still profess my love to the wind...    

I'd profess my adoration for the way    
she fills my sails full      
and my heart full of hope.        
For I am a lone sailor        
in a crowded ocean.      
Sailing in a vessel bound for nowhere...      
Traversing time and space      
with my love, my breeze...          
my air.              

.
ryn Feb 2016
Let the poetry...
Write itself....
As the ripe new moon
strums the swaying
silhouettes of the night.

Let the poetry...
Write herself...
With the vast
expanse of obsidian sky.
Pocked subtly with the shy
murmurs of the stars...
Offering solace and peaceful respite.

Let the poetry...*
Write of you...
As the splendour...
Envelopes each unspoken letter.
Embedding words of warmth,
that seize my heart
in a state of enamour...
Before taking its majestic flight.
ryn Feb 2016
.

••••••
••••••••••••••
••••                          ••••
•••• ­Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â â€¢â€¢â€¢â€¢
••••                         ­Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  ••••
••••                                    ••••
••••           ­Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â â€¢â€¢â€¢â€¢
••••                               ­Â Â Â Â Â â€¢â€¢â€¢â€¢
•let my secrets be buried unknown•
never to resurface, never again shown•one
mistake was all it took...•invested my heart
in an unassumin-                g crook•that was
enough to set m-                   y world on fire•
fuel for wagging to-       ngues' desires•days
only elapsed with l-        eers from disgusted
eyes and whispere-          d mocks•time was
inconsequential o-              n faceless clocks•
a hard lesson lea-                 rnt, painful price
to pay•now i have my secrets heavily pad-
locked... and the key thrown away•
••••••••••••••••••••••••


.
ryn Feb 2016
Lady night offers her generosity
as the stars twinkle in syncopation for me.
Shadow-clad silhouettes...
Their gaits mysterious.
The night lights trail into the depths of my eyes.
Burning away the seconds, so effortless.

The quietness...
Willing forth dishevelled reflections...
Of unkempt emotions.
Allowing a barrage...
Of thoughts and notions that span
over night and day.

So that they could...
Be conveyed through paper and screen.
So that I could...
Share with you what I intimately mean.
The unforgiving onslaught of ideas and feelings
I bravely conjured...
But too afraid to say.
ryn Feb 2016
Today bears the weight of erstwhile trepidation.
Uncertainties exhumed only to be hung up as ominous flags.
Black as night my widowed heart paraded through the procession.
Garbed in ash encrusted, sequinned frock, hemmed train all tattered in rags.

Herald the face with no features yet obscured behind a chiffon veil.
In hands, a bouquet of black roses, worm-eaten to the stems.
The mourning sun only gave the weakest glow,
feeble attempt to rejuvenate all that is stale;
to imbue the shimmer back into forsaken jewels and dulled gems.

Her entourage kept up with heavy feet; all grim and sullen.
Also faceless... Armed with pitchforks and torches.
Today they will draw much; having thirst for crimson.
Today they witness her death as the black parade marches.
Inspired by My Chemical Romance's "Welcome to the Black Parade".
  Feb 2016 ryn
Timothy Ward
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!
Just started reading his stuff - it's great! If you're not following him you should - he takes the common place and makes it uncommon!
Next page