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7d · 325
ryn 7d
Like blood slowly
ballooning into a tiny orb
from a pin *****.

It simply swelled
and bulged…

As it clung precariously
upon the tip of my nib.

A slight tremble,
almost a hesitation -
seemingly afraid to take
the leap of faith.
Afraid to take the plunge,
only to wilfully break
the expanse of blank parchment.
Afraid to taint the whiteness
with the ruthlessness
of indelible black.
Jul 20 · 689
ryn Jul 20
We played with words
and peddled euphemisms.
We hid behind veils.

We had reality
twisted and bent.
We chided and spat
into the winds
of coercing gales.
Jul 9 · 418
ryn Jul 9
There is beauty
in these depths.

But you’d have
to drown
to see it.
Jul 8 · 473
ryn Jul 8
A notion far too grand
to grace terrestrial minds.
A vision of laced tapestry -
an ostentatious display of
ornateness and
celestial opulence.

A dream so light
and airy.
A dream so majestic.

A dream that remains
by earth-encrusted hands.
Jul 6 · 183
ryn Jul 6
Take me to the swan-graced waters...
Where dragonflies would visit,
and skim the surface on tireless wings.

I’d sit with the grounds’ keepers
- the cicadas.
Invisible guardians,
whose shrill song and calls
would only echo through the sparse foliage
and trees - entrancing me into a state of
accompanied aloneness.

A calming solitude,
that enables the eyes
to lapse into a deep,
unjudged gaze into the lake.

And as time slows to a halt,
each breath would lengthen...
The sun would dip into the distant edge
of the lake.
And my heart would skip
as it interprets the dance of the sun
on the water.
Jun 5 · 816
ryn Jun 5
       +                                +        
        +     ­       +        +
+                                              ­              
      •      +
+          our                  
                 paths ma-    y    +          +
+       meander•in      m-          
  any a thousand    wa-    
ays•our feet may  yet  
find the paired other•
just as long as the
torches remain


Jun 1 · 693
ryn Jun 1
It would eternally echo,

the pain that you’d entertain,
and feel...

But if it didn’t hurt,

then it never was real.

May 30 · 736
Tunnel Vision
ryn May 30
When the periphery is muted,
one walks the precipice -
long and narrow.

Open minds are fenced in;
And are inadvertently confined
to hushed tones
and feeble babbles.

Life then ceases to be a journey...

But rather,
                 a recurring commute.
May 28 · 286
ryn May 28
Like an
endless spool of yarn...

Constant flow
of thoughts,

only punctuated
by the break
between each song
and the next.
May 10 · 423
ryn May 10
If our family was a tree,
you must be the roots.

Forever planted,
forever supporting,
forever nurturing.

Just so that all of us,
may bask in the amber
of the sun...
And bathe in the silver
of the moon.

May 8 · 522
ryn May 8
We both
fell in love
with the idea
of eternity.

Never fell for us.
May 5 · 555
ryn May 5
My heels had felt
harsh gravity
of the steep downhill...

My toes suffered,
the vicious bite
of the incline.

My soles had tasted
the everlasting bland
offered by the flat of the earth.

I know the distance.

Alas I run unequipped,
with a horse’s breath.
May 1 · 919
ryn May 1
Even when all
the ruby shards
and splinters
had vaporised,

I’d pretend
to gather
broken pieces

outlined in chalk.
Apr 27 · 604
ryn Apr 27
If you stood still,
and depend
only on the earth’s rotation,
the change you sorely seek
will come - but not too soon.

If you could wait no longer,
elect to move along
with the ground,
you’d soon enough find
as your ceiling
- new skies.
Apr 25 · 368
Salve (10w)
ryn Apr 25
sore is the wound
that rejects
the salve of time
Apr 22 · 558
ryn Apr 22
Will he
from a

Will he
be the
of bated

Will he
to the calls of the
nether after?

When he
indulges in
romanticised notions
of untimely
Apr 20 · 481
ryn Apr 20
If indeed
my heart knows
every word
to this song,

why then
does my voice
argue that it
should never
be sung?
Apr 19 · 388
ryn Apr 19
he lays
perfectly still,
with his back,
one with the ground.

his hand,
tracking the cadence
in his chest,

as he
milks poetry
out of the moon.

Apr 18 · 322
ryn Apr 18
If spoken words meant the same

and if they still sing the memories of

full breaths and shared palms,

the steady elapsed ticks of the long-sunken

hand will resurface once more to chronicle

the suns of days and stars of nights.
Apr 17 · 530
ryn Apr 17
take me into
the darkest recesses
of my existence


stoke the cold flames
of this night’s elegy -
that burns
flickerless and black.

Apr 16 · 245
Running Errands
ryn Apr 16
They say
that love
is a fool’s errand...

I guess
I just enjoy
running errands.
Apr 15 · 303
ryn Apr 15
What happened to us?

How did warm incandescence
turn callously incendiary?

Did we ignite too quickly,
burn too fiercely,
only to die out prematurely?

If so...

Where did the ash from our bodies go,
if not carried away by the winds of time?
Apr 14 · 575
ryn Apr 14
So enamoured
by the moon
was he...

That he had
disowned the sun

forgotten the stars.

Apr 13 · 863
April Night
ryn Apr 13
painfully beautiful

is the symphony

of this bitter regress
Apr 12 · 363
ryn Apr 12
     Captured breaths
within the
       moments in time.

   Broken snapshots
              frozen almost...
  Solid yet fragile
        and so brittle.

         Fractured and frail
      but in many ways,


Apr 12 · 362
ryn Apr 12
It’s so old and used,

and it barely did it’s job.

It had to be quickly replaced,

and put down...
                              without a sob.
Apr 10 · 694
ryn Apr 10
Hello there
familiar stranger...

Between the waking hours
and persistent unsleep,

you’re still
as much as the chaos
in my head then
as you are now.
Apr 10 · 275
Are You In?
ryn Apr 10
Is he home?

Will he answer the door?

Will he take calls?

Does he even check his mail anymore?
Apr 8 · 185
ryn Apr 8
Find me here.

Amidst the dry, tall grass,
under the bare-branched tree.

I’ll scribe afresh on its familiar bark -
Upon the other etches
I’ve made before,
as I wait for the coming of
the umpteenth sun,
that promised to follow
the wake of nonchalant moons.

Under the leafless tree.
Amidst the dead grass.

I am here.

Apr 8 · 229
ryn Apr 8
If I have erred...
Let it be known
that the mistakes
came from these hands
and they’re bound.

And if I did cry...
Let it be shown
that the tears that
came from these eyes
trickled without a sound.
Apr 7 · 910
ryn Apr 7
Like the moon
who diligently makes way
for the coming suns.

(And at a time, most unfortunate.)

He saw fit,
to loosen his grip...

And watched his heart
fall and turn into a million
ruby shards and splinters.
Apr 6 · 390
ryn Apr 6
Morn’s lingering mist...
Silently skimming
off the water’s edge.

          Deft tendrils reach out,
          to playfully
          taunt and tease...

Digging and uncovering...
Like a slow and worn...
But trusty dredge.

          Unearthing unwelcomed
          memories of (c)old,
          like an abrupt winter’s breeze.

Apr 6 · 191
ryn Apr 6
Laid my feet in the dirt
when the monsoon came.

      Heavy pelts.
      Magnificent flashes.
      Angry skies.

It was a perfect storm.

Time to move
yet I can’t,
with these feet caked in mud.
Apr 3 · 191
ryn Apr 3
Ernest prayers,
as it always would begin...

     “Eddying echoes...
     Be not my foes.

     Let sand under feet,
     be kith and kin.

     Let arms that toil,
     be hands that sows.”

Mar 31 · 915
ryn Mar 31
The knowledge of days
beyond tomorrow.

The vision of nights,
graced by future moons.

The brief glimpse
behind the veil of sorrow.

The eternal unrest
due to a life gone too soon.
Mar 30 · 342
ryn Mar 30
A vessel

with no harbour...

Adrift with its anchor.

That had dangled and swayed,

almost mindless...

As if caught in an entrance -

in the spell
of persuasive currents.
May 2020 · 1.1k
Palawan Beach
ryn May 2020
I want to be there...

When the sun would shine
upon the ready sand -
and presents us gold.

When it spears
into the excitable ripples
of the water -
and gives us emeralds.

When it caresses
sun-hungry skins -
and gives them back
their lives.

I miss the beach.
May 2020 · 794
ryn May 2020
our mouths go dry,
our actions get lazy,
our anchors unmoored,
our directions change,
our bearings are misaligned,
our charts remain unplotted,
our complacencies swell,
our greed metastasise,
our ignorance nurtured...

How then,
would our story end?

May 2020 · 854
ryn May 2020
Words from the maker,
we hardly could ever hear,

Bereft of love and attention,
we see the diminishing concern and care.

We still pour our hearts
into this bastion we’ve held so dear.

But, alas, the kingdom and subjects,
have fallen into neglect and disrepair.
When did HP become a broken shell, a faint ghost of what it once was?
May 2020 · 498
Last Stand (Her)
ryn May 2020
She stands waist-deep in the tide.

Who knows what salt from her eyes,
has mingled with that of the sea.

She had called to him,
countless times before
in mournful wails -
as she does this night.

And she hears him -
faint whispers as if couriered by the crests
that sit on top of waves.

But it isn’t enough...
She longs to hear more.
Oh how she yearns with her rapid beats
to hear his calls as surely as she did
a lifetime before.

Water and love -
she knows she’s in too deep.

So she fights a fuelled fight -
one step at a time
with sand beneath her feet,
his voice in her ear
and the fire in her heart.

She’s getting closer to him
and she knows...

She smiles, submits
and finally disappears
into the welcoming ***** of the ocean.
A mirror piece - read “Last Stand (Him)”
May 2020 · 442
Last Stand (Him)
ryn May 2020
He stands -
his waist propped against the rails.

Who knows what salt from his skin,
would see the dawning sun
as the storm in the dark stretched
into forever.

He’d called out to her before...
Yet never against howling winds
and thundering bolts.
Still he calls to her now,
into the towering waves
and blackened horizon.

He doesn’t hear her like always...
Not this time...
For his heart is pounding in his ears,
and the heavy marble droplets
pelt him from the ocean and sky.

Overwhelmed with exhaustion,
still he fights - with tonnes of steel
beneath his feet,
the memory of her voice in his head
and the love in his heart.

He grips the the railing tight
and lets out a final cry into the night -
a last display of rebellion and resentment
to the gods.

He sees her...
He smiles and concedes
as the vessel roars and groans
before finally disappearing
into the ravenous belly of the ocean.
A mirror piece - read “Last Stand (Her)”
May 2020 · 576
Marina Bay
ryn May 2020
Cast in stone
and cement,
pocked with lights
from tiny windows.

Like towering tombstones,
they stood stoic
and expressionless.

Yet what was caught
upon the ripples
in the water
spoke loud and aplenty.

Silent voices
that recited nuances
of fragmented poetry
and character.

City by the bay...
Still but alive.
I miss the view of the bay.
Apr 2020 · 1.1k
ryn Apr 2020
Trace the suns
that traverse the skies

Follow the moons
that try to keep pace

Count the ticks
that strike my clock

For you are the numbers
to the rest of my days

Apr 2020 · 386
Errors Past
ryn Apr 2020
A sack filled full, with the weight of many.

Back bent crooked with a head hung low.

Feet blistered from a journey of countless years.

Hands clenched tight yet with nothing to show.

Chest heaved laboured,

each inhaled breath - heavier than the last.

Eyes had stung forever,

bearing salt from errors past.
Apr 2020 · 528
On the Wall
ryn Apr 2020

stark -

Apr 2020 · 472
Third Party
ryn Apr 2020
If she is the sky
And he is of earth
If she spans the height
He is the girth

Where are you?

Here between these lines
Spoken but unheard
Seen but invisible
Once first, now third
Apr 2020 · 475
ryn Apr 2020
I swim amongst the many.

Churned amidst the chaos.

Blended in the crowd of Serifs,
Calibris and New Romans.
Strong-armed by the bold.
Submerged beneath the underlined.

But I will stand out...

If only you’d
keep me italicised.
Apr 2020 · 561
ryn Apr 2020
I will remember
the song that my heart
played percussions to.

I will sing the words,
with no one else,
to a song made for two.
Apr 2020 · 500
ryn Apr 2020
             What fool
      would saunter
into the blazing      
               fires forged by
      his own raging

               What others
            would carelessly
call sheer          

I call love...

Apr 2020 · 544
ryn Apr 2020
My feet struck the earth
just as they did before.
I didn’t need to think -
rehearsed steps guided
my strides.

One foot in front of the other...
My soles tasted the concrete
with traction between lunges.

I was going places.
I was getting somewhere.

I wished I knew
where I was heading.
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