Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
ryn Jan 2018
I pine for,
     crescent moons
     and star-peppered skies.


I notice and hear,
     swaying silhouettes
     and whistling night breezes.


I anticipate,
     the expiring hours
     and dew-scented earth.


I only exist in,
     extended silences
     and shattered lenses.


.
ryn Jan 2018
if indeed
my heart
knows every
word to
this song

why does
my voice
argue that
it should
never be
sung?
ryn Jan 2018
he speaks loud but in ink

he thinks quietly in riddles

he writes surely in metaphors

oh how he voices but achieve only babbles
ryn Jan 2018
If the
weight of thoughts
could wear away
the resilience
of the broken bough,

I must’ve done
something terribly
wrong
to feel the way
that I do
right now.
ryn Jan 2018
the symphony
played by the water
upon the shore

punctuated at times
by that errant wave
that crashed a little too hard

dislodging half-buried notions,
revealing pint-sized dreams
and tabulating forgotten score

serving watchful eyes
a fistful of sand,
and pays concerned hearts
with total disregard
ryn Dec 2017
To forget what sand had stirred
in the dark of night.

To empty the dregs left stagnant
of yesterday’s wine.

To see as though through lenses
brand new.

To discard the tethers that had
bound us tight, skin to spine.
ryn Dec 2017
The mind
must realise

just as
the heart
must feel.

That these
thoughts
do bite

and that
the perils
are real.
Next page