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ryn Jul 2018
If life was music,
then we’d be the words.
Capturing every nuance,
in every minute of everyday.

We’d be the melody.
A piece that tunes unique.
Encompassing the lightness of flightful joy,
the strength of surety
and weight of doom and darkness.

We’d be the story.
Written by the will of the universe.
Intricately ornate...
True...
To each our eyes and hearts.
Arranged most haphazard
yet so beautiful.

We’d be a symphony.
And we will be the music...

Only to our ears.

.
ryn Jul 2018
I once knew...
Or at least I thought I did,
that these arms only sought
to grab at what is in the sky.

Then as I aged,
these arms had grown older.
They’d only scramble
for what lays within reach.

But every so often,
the eyes still wander
to the heavens.

Tracing the outline of clouds,
drinking up the shade of blue
and catching rays of sun.

•••

With feet planted to the earth,
and a head full of clouds,
in this moment,
I am happy.
ryn Jul 2018
Seek the voice of the wind
that blows so silent,

between the song
of the soaring gull.

Seek the quiet
between your breaths,

and you shall find me
unseen but skimming the lull.
ryn Jul 2018
Been away awhile...

Contemplating stars.
Counting moons and suns.
Painting skies.
Deciphering clouds.
Writing in sands.










And missing you.
ryn Jun 2018
I watched...
As the moon revolves
round its stunted orbit.

I mourned...
As the stars left
and disappeared into nothingness.

I felt...
As the earth betrayed
and swayed my balance.

I cried...
As the sun still rose
- unfazed and careless.
ryn Jun 2018
The feet burns sore
from the scorch
of the sand.

Feeble breezes played
with the corners
of my tattered garb.

The sun, adamant,
in punishing
familiar travellers
from distant lands.

Lost in the dunes,
always...
Like a ribbon caught
on a wire’s barb.
ryn Jun 2018
I deliberate.
I contemplate.
I procrastinate.

Then I write in ink...

In the hopes
of capturing
all that swims unruly
and speaks in runes.
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