Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
ryan Apr 2016
When I press your ***** clothes to
My face, and your aroma fills my lungs,
It's like I can feel your lips and flesh
In my mouth;
I can taste your skin on my tongue
And it's as if you're a part of me
Again.
  Apr 2016 ryan
Robyn
Um I wasn't done writing that.
said the girl with the eyes somewhere above her chest and the hair as black as *****.
oh honey.
ryan Apr 2016
Standing up on stage,
While I'm sitting in the back on a
Rack of Bibles, you'll never
See the watery eyes accompanying
My smile plastered face
From being so ridiculously proud
Of who you've become,
And what you can accomplish
With your magical voice
And marvelous talent,
All from a girl, who I get the
Privilege to love.
  Mar 2016 ryan
Robyn
Buried in sand
Inhaling, shaking
Tense embrace lulls me
You hold me
And forever
I feel Held.
ryan Mar 2016
To be a man, is to be made not of
Glass or plastic, fragile or manufacturered
Like these young boys plucking
Away at keyboards day to day, acquiring
Vanishing trophies; a man is made of
Steel and stained wood, screws and twine
Make up his joints and bark is his skin.

To be a man is not smell of lysol or
Carpets, but if sawdust and oil, leather and
Soil, for a man is shelter.
When boys pitch canvas tents
In sand, a man plants logs on sturdy
Ground in which his family can reside, his back
The roof under which it is dry and safe.

To be a man is not to bake your mind with flashes
Of light and thunderous noise, but
To create, to be dynamic and soulful, imbuing
Himself into his creation;
To be man is to help and be helpful, to share and
Collect wisdom from others, to better
Everyone.

One day a Man will be honoured to take you
Home, to care for you until the
End of his days.
One day, that man will be me.
ryan Mar 2016
The Hiker reaches the foot of the mountain
And pulls out his map,
Laden with a golden path in lemniscates  
Knowing where he is to go
For he had known this since he set foot out
His door.

Day by day he scales a piece of the mountain
Face, lacking not skill, but
Having patience, knowing the safe and
Prosperous journey is the
Patient one, the one whose tree of meaning
Is rooted in passion, the passion
To wait.

The Hiker fears not the delay of the summit
For the summit is already his,
Her hand his bride, for it is known in the
Hikers name who he is meant for:
The Summit, forever and for always.
I will have you, tomorrow
Or forever away, it is already known.
  Mar 2016 ryan
Robyn
You (perfect) wrapped me (shivering and ridiculous) up in a blanket (warm).
You (wonderful) sat next to me (falling asleep) and ate the sandwich I bought (pretty good).
You (perfect) are perfect. I (loves you) love you.
Next page