Biography of Aaron Lynn
I'm a 21 year old poet from Boonville, IN. My writing is generally focused on religion, romanticism, and abstract themes now, but some of my old poetry delves into depression, emotional complexity, and fantasy. I hope you enjoy my work. Comments and rates are appreciated.
Aaron Lynn's Works:
My poem 'Minor Breathing' appeared in The 2012 Student Writers of Indiana Anthology.
Aaron Lynn Poems
Candles In The Rain
If either of us truly cared As much as we both claimed,
Addicted To The Search
There you stand again, Your lust for youth outweighs your guilt. You'll stack it up and watch it fall, Then turn away from all you've built.
A Flame Beyond The Sun
Through the mossy abyss, I am beckoned Treading the woodlands of my deepest dreams In the ominous gleam of the twilight I see you amongst the black trees
All I'Ve Done
I stare into the glass, I see no answers there. The frost has settled in Once again...
Salt On The Lips
As floating debris Across the span of the vast Within the primordial womb Our throats, as a whole, would be open
Dispose Of Your Mind
Please dispose of your mind. Oh, please! Dispose of your mind! Gather it's contents and toss it aside. Don't worry! Dispose of your mind!
Bliss Of Gloom
Oh, how the essence alters In totality's spiraling sands. As the sky above grows lightless, Upholding midnight's brand.
Fear Of Death
Perhaps you feel as I do, But empathy clouds no one's fate. It's cold hands will smother us all, Regardless of alliance or faith.
Finally Born Again
In the darkest times, I slumber. I awaken, and I wonder. Why I feel the scalding sun. As it revives the fallen blood.
There is no tyrant quite like feeling. A bondage that cannot be released.
Dragged beneath the earth, Looking coldly at the sky. The brainless ones alter their limbs While feasting on their minds.
Grains Of Solace
If only my shyness was broken, And sent with a wrath to its grave. If only the words that I've spoken Were welcomed with more than false praise.
I Feel A Power
I've seen the sun rise. I've witnessed it's fall. From the frigid to the scalding. I can't pinpoint whats beyond.
The Blood On Satan's Sword
They gather in congregation. Their prophet wired into their core. To avoid, and yet, to conquer. The blood on Satan's sword.
There is no tyrant quite like feeling.
A bondage that cannot be released.
All we do will forever succumb to it.
Your suffering means that you're human.
Your mind is a warfield.
And your heart is the opposition.
No solution can truly be found.
Forever at war with yourself.