He Who Fights Monsters

I won’t survive this dark night’s lunar sea.
Waves crash against the fortress of my mind.
An endless ebb and flow of misery
Has seeped into the Labyrinth we designed.

No atlas, compass, sextant can give aid
In evil vaults where stars are loath to shine.
My tears and screams, once birthed, so quickly fade—
To drown with hope beyond the high-tide line.

I’ve raced before a tempest wind so long,
My hull is breached beyond my skill to caulk.
No dawn for me, I chase a siren’s song
To straits so dire, all but monsters balk.

On feathered wings of wax at last I see—
There’s no abyss except the one in me.

Ryan Stone

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Tempest

Wind, blow –
lift me high, don’t
let go;

fly me
far, above sand
and sea.

Monsoon –
take me, let’s chase
the moon.

– Ryan Stone

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Bedroom at Daybreak

A breeze saunters in,
brisk enough
to rouse spectres
from corners –
words flung like fists

fists flung like answers.
Passion smolders
then surrenders
to ash.

Outside a rosella
flays petals from a rose
until an empty husk remains

and I beg the fickle breeze
to carry me away.

Ryan Stone

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