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  Aug 2021 ScriptedReposts
My Dear Poet
I don’t know about you
but words won’t let me sleep
They slip and steep
into my covers
before I do

I don’t know about you
but rows of prose
run through my head
I’m hugging thoughts
close to me in bed

I don’t know about you
but my dreams
are filled with them too
it’s all I think I do
I need rest from this mind
waking with words all the time

I don’t know much about you
but what if I was to
really get to know you?
Maybe you’d save me
from being lonely, poetry
and another rhyme
  Aug 2021 ScriptedReposts
ryn
.
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.



.
  Aug 2021 ScriptedReposts
ryn
If indeed
my heart knows
every word
to this song,

why then
does my voice
argue that it
should never
be sung?
  Aug 2021 ScriptedReposts
ryn
Will he
awaken
from a
wide-eyed
slumber?

Will he
be the
bearer
of bated
breaths?

Will he
succumb
to the calls of the
nether after?

When he
indulges in
romanticised notions
of untimely
deaths.
  Aug 2021 ScriptedReposts
ryn
.
sore is the wound
that rejects
the salve of time

.
  Aug 2021 ScriptedReposts
ryn
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.
  Aug 2021 ScriptedReposts
ryn
Even when all
the ruby shards
and splinters
had vaporised,

I’d pretend
to gather
invisible
broken pieces

outlined in chalk.
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