Ryan Webb
Ryan Webb Poems
Doors- run through the doors.
The shape of age is not
Hate- the great escape,
So strange, the mouth will gape.
...
A bleached-snow vortexes my way.
A blemished goddess taunts its presence;
Her scoffing words dealt little damage for she resides in the storm;
Her sluggish enclosure resumes course.
...
Licking sweat- salty human essence.
Stinging; the drought consumes the lips,
The tongue, the throat.
...
A violent perfume is excreted from a rubber balloon.
The odor lounges, disturbing victims near and far.
...
Exhume the bodies of your past lives,
Consume their essence for your nourishment.
...
The Best Poem Of Ryan Webb
The Siren's Song
Doors- run through the doors.
The shape of age is not
Hate- the great escape,
So strange, the mouth will gape.
Walls- they hold you in;
Your face will age and rot.
Shame- the bed you've made,
So vague, the sand parade.
Cursed- you all are cursed
To stay within these walls.
Pain- a mindless state,
They made the jacket straight.
Take the time- commit the crime;
Unaware of precautions they will take.
Above the jail- the sirens wail,
Casting a shadow on all those who lie awake.
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5/7/2024 5:06:24 PM # 1.0.0.1119
