Archive for the ‘Other Poems’ Category

Music Man

November 8th, 2013

The song fades to nothing, its promises lies,
Promises that love, happiness, peace, are mine to find.
As the beat drops, words penetrate my ears,
Love connects with me, whispering my fears.
Feelings are transient, regardless of strength,
Their permanence dependant on the songs length.
Beautiful voices speak, transport next to me,
Regardless of their original century.
Take me to another dimension, atmosphere, world,
Where immortality is the choicest of hunted pearls.
Help me forget, music man,
Help me forget, radio,
Help me forget, juke box,
Help me forget, disc jockey.
Help me forget what imprisons sleep from finding me,
Help me forget when she left, her back all I could see.
Everything I had not enough to quench a thirst,
That somehow found joy in others’ hurt.
That’s why I need you so much, my plug in baby,
You know my insatiable want to turn a no into a maybe.
Music man, you are there when I awake, when I journey to work,
My alone time at lunch, my return from work.
You are my escapology, my miracle cure,
The only drug that has affects that endure.
Sad as I know this way of life has become,
No one can I depend so greatly; no one.

Ryan Lane 2013


May 6th, 2013

We are what we want not to be, existing only for a way out that we cannot see.
Squeezing our souls, hearts, and mind, towards an ulterior purpose which is yet to be assigned.
Attempting to describe a World in which we do not fit in, an attempt to relate to those who weren’t meant to be akin.

So for some, death hath been, and may be, the only escape; head in the oven, body adorned by water, mouth covered with tape.
Hath been a fate long known to one, that for us nothing is enough, whether it be a night of love or the rising of the morning Sun.
Tis strenuous work to give all within, and yet realise content cannot be found without or within.

The works that are produced to attempt comprehension, simply free the already liberated and leave the artist remaining in his detention.
A detention of self, inescapable after the point in time, where finding acceptance in the World is forbidden by the mind.
Drugs, alcohol, sex- it simply numbs the returning pain, only prolonging the suffering of the brain.

But what is the answer? To stop exercising what the mind produces? Hoping that by doing so, the works will start reducing?
No, for this is not possible for those truly creative; tis like a disease that needs releasing at the peril of the brain, for it is reactive.
We carry on knowing its existence or omission is paradoxically our life and death, a stab in one’s own heart at production and yet to not is to be bereft.
We are what we want not to be, for to be creative is forever know abnormality.

Ryan Lane 2013

The Break Up

July 1st, 2010

Will I ever have enough time and have enough space
So that I can fully recover from visiting that terrible place
Where I am the puppet and she is the master
If only emotions could be healed with a plaster

I need to keep my guard up to protect what emotion is intact
Cos my body is still recovering from being attacked
My head says “let her go”
For all at once she can be my friend and foe

But my heart screams “go after her with all of your might”
Even though she may not be worth the fight
Losing her is my biggest fear
Despite shedding so many a tear

How can I let her out through the door
After all we’ve been through and much more
Insult me and laugh in my face
Cos I will be the one left with pride and grace

I know I can be too intense and show too much emotion
And I seem to be the one who starts the commotion
But it’s because I love you with all of my heart
And I would love nothing more than to track back to the start

But now that we understand each other’s culture
And our friendship can soar like a vulture
You never know we may be right for each other
But my gut feeling is we’re destined for another lover

Ryan Lane 2009