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ryn May 26
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?
ryn May 27
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.
ryn May 26
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?
ryn May 25
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 defeat
as the vessel roars and creaks
before finally disappearing
into the ravenous belly of the ocean.
A mirror piece - read “Last Stand (Her)”
ryn May 16
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.
ryn Apr 22
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
ryn Apr 19
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.
ryn May 25
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)”
ryn Apr 18
Writing’s
on
the
wall

Bold
and
stark -
indelible

Plain
for
all
to
see
ryn Apr 15
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.
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