Poems ✍️

Bleeding-out the heart like xylem sap,
oozing from the bark of autumn trees;
inertia, negotiating crooked grooves,
in depressed, sardonic spiral;
descending to the taste of november soil,
cold, dark, and bitter, as sorrow be.

We bleed in darkest indigo,
thru' the rivers of narrowed veins,
and arteries...streams of purple blue-
the wounded heart in passion;
'less the wound breaks flesh to open air;
turning indigo into blackest red.

Holding-cell for the human heart be
harbouring dread in like tachycardia;
warm pulse cradling, its iced lament,
until faith provides remission.
And sorrow then be a lifeforce....fervent,
as the swelling buds of Aprils verdant fields.



©Frank James Ryan, Jr./ FjR
MMXVI-All Rights Reserved