The World And I

(Part 1)

I once was young,
From within innocence sprung.
But now I am old,
And my heart has grown cold.

Scales have formed,
My Skin has ceased to be warm.
I waste all feeling here;
My face, lost in a mirror.

Death is all around me.
Its time for he,
And I to dance now.
Forever dance forever bow.

But to whom is the question asked.
If we all would tear off our masks,
We would see that underneath,
We are the same beneath.

In the deep there is a voice,
A soft and timid voice,
Like a child lost and scared,
It pretends to have life to share.

Don’t look don’t heed
For there is death in the deed.
A liar is he
And on our flesh he will feed.

Oh all is lost, see we now
As we fall and ask how
Could it be that I would kill me.
That I would die for a lie.

Ah, that is the question man,
How is it we think we are so grand
When we can’t even see.
In darkness we breed.

We fester more hate.
Death we create.
We try to apply our will,
But then we get stuck with the bill.

Our lives are short and quick
Like a candle burning up its wick.
A doomed species are we
As our disease feeds.

This attention to ourselves has become,
Like a child sucking on his thumb
For a time too long
Thumb and food don’t get along.

So the child dies
None to wise
To see that it was he
Who would not be.

There is an end
With no age limit to pretend
Beneath it we are safe
Only death is promised us to taste.

(Part 2)

But wait not truthful am I
There is a way by
This death we have made.
It will not reign today.

Shattered was He
The One who would bleed
On His flesh the child meant to feed
But that would never be.

For this broken One
Was greater than the little son
Of darkness bred
And ill, sin fed.

A mighty King is He
Redeemed we when upon His tree.
Beneath its roots he slept
But at third dawns light He lept.

Scales have fallen off.
I have lost deaths cold cough.
Belief has been given me
And for no fee indeed.

It was we who put up His tree
It was He who paid our fee.
Life is new and young.
From within new wells have sprung.

The dance has been done
The Savior has won.
Our life we cannot claim
We gave it up when death reigned

The child’s head is crushed
We no longer have to rush
Here and there trying to find
Where we left our minds.

Renewed intellects
Empowered without the use of checks.
New creatures are we
Destined forever to be.

To be by His side
To never again die.
Never to lie
Or in darkness abide.

Children of the Light,
Remember our plight
We must never forget
That we have been picked.

Commissioned to life and works
Death has done his worst.
Don’t lose sight of our fight
For we might die tonight.

The victory flag already waves
We have no permanent graves.
Precious child now don’t be afraid
Father has conquered Satan today.

by Ryan Wormald

The Will

Man’s will is only free within his realm,
To chose only that within his gaze.
Foolishly his will thinks his is the helm,
And blindly stumbles on for days.

He will boldly say, in his foolish pride,
That which only sovereigns can know,
“I will tell them all when I will die,
I will decide when it’s my time to go.”

But his air will be for not.
For he cannot see nor does dream
Of the place his fathers forgot.
Beyond his sight lays, a holy theme.

The sacred, man cannot conceive,
For out of his picture it lives
Nor in it will he believe,
Until within him it lives.

by Ryan Wormald

The Spark

There once was a spark
That burned hot and true
He traveled in the heavens,
Burned his way through

He fell to the earth
To play his great part,
He came here to burn,
To ignite a dead heart.

A flame he was not,
But nots can change
When they meet that,
They burst into flames.

That which they require
Is nothing less
Than that which burns
A flammable substance.

Any matter will do
A heart it can be,
And many times it is.
Something that meaty.

When hearts do burn
Hot and bright
Sparks where the reason
Why they did ignite.

This spark came forth,
Born in eternity past,
To came here hence
To burn bright at last.

When hearts do meet
Sparks turn to flames,
And burn us all,
To combine our names.

by Ryan Wormald

The Lonely Path

There is a path understood by none
But he that walks its way.
A path only traveled by some
Barely visible in the day.
This path isn’t wide nor groomed
Nor is easy to walk upon
The trees are mean in their bloom
And sing a sad sorry song.
Men who tread a path this hard
Are often mocked by the throng
But there is a time not too far
When these men will be gone.
Then this lonely path will disappear
Will grow its foliage down
For no man will be walking there
For no man will be found.


-Coram Deo

Purest Love a Sonnet

We stand to fall and live within defeat,
Our life is cursed and now can only hope
Our cries do not forget whom they’re to meet.
Oh, that my cries would bring a saving rope

To we, and from my misery save me.
We flounder alone in water so deep it drowns
Our souls, our life, and all we were to be,
But what is this my eyes doth see, a crown

That shines with life for me, a face that bleeds,
With pain it screams, a love of pure display.
Who is this King who plants purest of seeds?
I now am sure it t’was for Him we prayed.

The King who left behind an empty tomb,
The King who saved us out of certain doom.

by Ryan Wormald


My heart is soaked in petrol
And I am in fear of many things
For all that surrounds me
Seems to burst into flames.

There is a fire in her bosom
There is a fire in her eyes
If I get too near to her
I might catch a fire.

Look at all that money there
At those little feet a dancing
There is much danger there
And an evil uprising.

Oh those little flames are hard to see
And if I get too close, that it will be;
My end will too quickly come
And in fire my sin will consume me.

Be careful child of the fire
For around us it lies
Seeking petrol to burn
And flesh to turn to lye.

Our hearts at any second
May burst into flames
Not sparks to be put out
But unholy consuming flames.

My precious friend I implore
This you must do and find
If you wish to live next door
To this petrol world of crime.

There is a red water
From a side it once flowed
And there must your heart live
Underneath that holy flow.

For in this red water
Lies many attributes
In it fire may spread no farther
And in it the heart becomes new.
The fire that burns all around
In eyes and hands and pretty things.
In this water does drown
And cease their dreadful burnings.

When a heart in petrol lay
Meets with water so pure.
There night becomes day
And flames loose their lure,

And there a heart won’t
As easily like to burn
And there it becomes anew
As water’s attributes it learns.

Then in the end we find
A heart a fresh anew
Now very hard to turn to lye
As dead things become new.

by Ryan Wormald

Pale and Paler

Pale and Paler went together down
To hew a tale and watch him drown.
They left the road and went around
Saw him fall and hit; the last sound.

On their journey far and wide
They touched a girl and watched her cry.
The doctors cut and let him die
Ate her spirit as it passed them by.

Along they went to the time
Drinking the blood of many a mind
Until they crossed the most sacred line
And fell beneath the fiery rind.

by Ryan Wormald

Only A Picture

I hold in my hand pictures
Of a time long since past by.
And the only real thing I see,
Is these images speaking to me.

A tear falls from salty eyes,
As my mind starts to realize,
That those times are pictures now,
And I will never relive those images.

I see you and me back then,
And I forgot what it was like to feel,
Those feelings I felt back then,
For you and me and that time.

I don’t think I could say,
Nor my mind proclaim,
The dreams I once held,
And the words I once gave.

And the saddest thing,
The tragedy above them all,
Is the difference time makes,
How strong feelings fall.

I know the feelings I once had,
Are now trapped in those images
And the ones I hold of you now
Don’t fit those pictures at all.

My heart now is numb, and lost,
But the saddest thing really is,
That all I know of you now
Is how you are a picture to me.

by Ryan Wormald

Oh the Beauty of the Sky

Oh the beauty of the sky
This world and this time
In it is felt the pulse
A loving rhyme

Once I was blind
Could see no truth
Held a snake
Felt its poison tooth

How sad it is
The pain that is felt
When light hits your eye
And leaves a welt

I felt the ground
And the covering sky
Felt the falling rain
And gasped a sigh

To die I thought
Would be good
I would leave tonight
If I could

The sight I beheld
Wasn’t grand or pretty
Until his hand
Was offered to me

You could almost say
That line in the sand
He far crossed
He walked my land

It was as if I died
Saw visions of stars
And blood and life,
And then those scars

How wonderful the sight
The view I did see
Of blood that flowed
And it covered me.

Oh the love in a touch
The warmth in a breath
The joy in a kiss
The beating of a chest

Beauty in pain
Love in a sigh
It wasn’t felt for me
Tell to me He died

by Ryan Wormald


She is the flower of love’s fair
And the ship that brought us there.
She kisses the wounds on our knees
And calls us down from the tree.
She is warm apple ciders draught
After snow forts in an empty lot.
She is the tears that run down
When your choices introduce the ground.
She is the one who spelled fun
And showed us games under the sun.
She is a bent knee and clasped hands
And a whispered prayer to the Man.
She is the one who will cry on the day
Her training completes and you move away.
She is the hand of strength to little legs
Too weak to walk in those early days.
She is the song in a lullaby
And your home tell she dies.
Who has had such a friend as her?
Like your God given blessed mother.

by Ryan Wormald

Love Not in Dreams

Dreams can be pitiful things,
When your secret love in them flies.
They do to you terrible things,
When you see your hidden love’s eyes.

She torments me in my dreams,
This love who knows not my name.
There she does to me dreadful things,
And treats my love like a game.

Then I awake to see her not,
The love who knows not my name,
But in my heart I still rot,
To wish she’d love me all the same.

by Ryan Wormald

Lost Fools

What do you seek or wish to find?
Is it in a week, or about time?
Do you want more or less,
And would it slant the press?

Tomorrow would leave you blind,
If you only could keep your mind.
The cake in your hand has been lost and is gone,
And your stomach has been empty for far too long.

Honesty will only discover what you seek,
And It will have to last you more than a week.
The hour is short, and will likely be gone,
And you might be left, alone thinking to long.

Life Speaks

Of all the pretty birds and flowers,
That I heard speaking to me,
None were as loud as the showers,
Or that little Pekingese.

Their whispers told of a time,
Held before this date,
When the hills began to climb
And the seas did abate.

Its was long ago in a land not far,
The whisperers began to speak,
They talked of life around a star,
And said something about a week.

Time has now here and gone
To never here return,
And I have tried to push on,
But life holds me firm.

I know one thing I’ve learned it well,
Some people love a lie,
They don’t want us to tell,
Of the souls they do buy.

They act like there’s nothing to say,
About that epoch before
Or what came about on that day;
The whisperers they try to ignore.

But ignore them we cannot,
Not even if we tried.
For they now show us our lot,
From them we cannot hide.

They are found here and there,
In everything that is made.
In the light they are so clear,
How could this be a façade?

Listen once, I’ll tell you now,
You are going to die,
So now you must question how,
Does that fly, fly.

Well with wings of course,
Not of himself made.
But formed with thoughtful force,
Around a foundation laid.

You see it was God who made us all,
And all prove him.
Life’s whispers sing praises at His ball,
And they glorify Him

by Ryan Wormald

Death by Sugar

This is my story
This is my time
How I lived on sugar
And how by sugar I died.

This tale may be sweet
But not without its bite
I loved my sugar
But sugar let me die.

Sugar she seduced me
Captured me with her touch
Laid her hands in me
And took way too much.

I knew I was prejudice
To eat only that substance.
To sugar was my debt
And sugar called its presence.

I despised whole food
Only to beckon sugar’s call
But sugar was empty
So empty I did fall.

Sugar offers her hand,
But its not truly there
She only offers lies,
She doesn’t really care.

You may believe the lie:
She is what you need,
But soon that will die,
As she, on you feeds.

I guess in truth’s stare
It wouldn’t be so bad,
If it wasn’t just me
Who became so sad.

My friend, listen well
She isn’t worth the pain,
She may seem so sweet,
But its bitterness you gain

by Ryan Wormald

Be Mine

Will you be,
With eyes so bright,
And a smile so wide,
My date tonight?

Will you go,
With skin so fair,
And lips so full,
On my arm there?

Will you hold,
With hands so warm
And fingers so tight,
My heart in form?

Will you be,
With hair that shines
And kisses soft,
My Valentine?

by Ryan Wormald

Apathy Kills Herself

Go ahead and burn.
Soak yourself and ignite.
Its about time you fry,
And crawl after the worm.

Every step is closer still,
Deeper into Hell you go.
Always seeking after the thrill,
And going out for the show.

You spit at all the good,
And yet hope for the best.
Why can’t you do as you should,
And stop beating your chest.

Your face makes me sicker still.
While you have lost the race,
And victory doesn’t come in a pill,
Nor can you buy your place.

Apathy, you though, was nice,
But for it you will pay time.
Your closed mind feeds your vice,
While false beliefs compound your crime.

By your withheld hand,
Did many an innocent die.
Your complacent demands
Helped their killers lie.

You told yourself and them,
That life is found outside.
What a fanciful ugly whim,
And a sure way to die.

Can’t you see the sight.
You’re the one to blame.
You’ve killed all that’s right;
Have brought us all to shame.

This world in which you fight
Has no innocence still.
You have not improved its plight
But rather have helped it kill.

Give up your selfish climb
See your not the cure,
Perhaps you’ll escape the lime,
If you only look to the Pure.

by Ryan Wormald


A thought I had once or twice
Never followed by good advice
It rips a weary soul apart
And it weakens my dreary heart
It is not good for man to be afraid
To live life alone each and every day

These thoughts that come to me
Come to stay and never leave
Bring tears of pain and sorry sounds
I drink those tears and I drown.
It is not good for man to be alone
It is not good to have an empty home.

by Ryan Wormald

Alone Again

I silently watched you,
Softly covered with dew.
Flower so delicate and strong,
My gaze stayed perhaps, a time to long.

Pretty flower why must you torture me so.
I am so fragile and weak, you don’t even know.
Oh that I could hold you my precious flower,
No longer then would I have to cower.

My fear of flowers, bids me fair haven.
Perhaps it is because they are a bit of heaven.
In my dreams I can watch with an unabashed eye,
The flowers in the garden pass me by.

You my precious flower, I cannot see but in my dreams,
Perhaps it is a curse, to see you only in my dreams.
But then if I saw you here today,
I would no doubt runaway.

What do I have to bring?
That would make a flower’s heart ring.
That would bring a flower to my door.
Perhaps then, I, you will no longer ignore.

I stand in the garden every day,
Hoping you will come by and stay.
But for now in my dreams you live.
Perhaps later, to me, your heart you will give.

Perhaps later,
Yes it must be later.

by Ryan Wormald


I nearly lost my way.
Lost my identity.
Forgot who i was,
And who i would be.
So i plant my foot,
and cry to the sea
“thou art nothing,
thou cant hold me.”
With this thrust,
this wave of the hand,
I turn my back
and leave that sand.

by Ryan Wormald

Raining Dreams

Down a dreary window sill
Runs a drop of icy chill.
Inside sits a boy of dreams
Captive to his thoughts and themes.

Outside a swallow sends out a call,
It’s the weary time of fall.
On the swing a child plays,
Dreaming of his latter days.

Dreams and their captive themes
Hold many like wooden beams:
Days pass like living plays
Still dreams hold up our maze.

Chill is life without window sills
For they shelter us from what’s real.
Call to me dream sparrow or I fall,
Fall from my goal and it all.

by Ryan Wormald

While I Was Sleeping

When I caught a glimpse of her eyes,
I knew that I was caught
They were as dark as night flies,
And from their grasp I couldn’t be wrought.

Her dark beauty spelled my demise,
I knew that I was bought,
For those flies burned my disguise,
And left me there, where I always sought.

Her soft voice didn’t surprise,
But calmed more often than not,
Lacking any hint of lies,
I wondered if it would ever be fought.

I desired those fly filled eyes,
More than you or I ought.
With that crime I found my demise,
And discovered I would always be caught

By the woman with dark fly eyes
And soft voice sugar lies,
Who always flies after my demise
In my dreams and their hollow lies.

by Ryan Wormald

A Coward Not

A coward I cannot be,
Not when so much fear inhabits me.
Fear that feeds and fuels a weary soul.
A fear that drives away the cold.

Questions unanswered in the dark.
Perhaps now I won’t be torn apart,
Blood curtailing fear,
Thrusts me here.

A force likened to none,
To strong with which to contend
Life to my bones,
And purpose to my feet.

Without it now I would die,
There would be no reason for me to try.
Try to live without it now,
And I will surely bow.

Bow a loser’s knee,
To life’s humility.
Without true fear,
I have nothing to hold dear.

Thought to be lost here and now,
Forever I bow to fear’s life here; now.

by Ryan Wormald

Have a Sore Throat?

Have a sore throat?
Sooth it in my blood.
Does your head hurt?
Smash my skull in.
Feet racked in pain?
Hammer a nail in mine.
Stomach not feel right?
Disembowel me with a knife.
Do I disagree?
Lop off my head.
Can your eyes not see?
Stick mine with a stake.

I’m here to bleed for you,
I’m here to be your pain.
Feed on my flesh,
Gain yours again.
Sometimes we just need release
My pain can bring you peace.

Can you not reach?
Cut me at the knees.
Are your hands too weak?
Mount mine on your wall.
Do you not smell?
Burn up all my air.
Does your skin itch?
Cut mine into ribbons.
Is your blood too thin?
Eat my brains.
Can your tongue taste?
Burn mine with fire.

Swim in my blood,
It was made for you
To drown your sorrows in.
Liar I want you to consume
My world and drink my blood.
I want to be your pain.

by Ryan Wormald

The Man in Black

One morning I went for a stroll
Just a walk, with no place to go.
While on this outing, I heard some shouting
“Hurry up, man, you’ll miss the show!”

The tone was mocking almost squawking
And I felt it cool and chill my spine.
I hesitated while my response was debated,
“How should I reply to such an insolent whine?”

When I turned reeling with a feeling
From surprise, I saw his cold hard eyes.
Peering almost leering, they were a black night sky,
And in those flies I beheld my demise.

“What”! I yelled “is the meaning of this greeting?”
All the while I was caught in his eyes.
Not blinking, hardly breathing he slowly replied.
“I am here, have no fear, to be your demise.”

Now you must understand my surprise.
There I am walking, not with talking, by
This man, whom, on seemingly a whim has cried;
Whose eyes have prophesied to be my demise.

“Good sir” I asked with an attempt to pacify.
“What have I done to receive such a look and cry?”
His hard finger, like a long skeleton’s bone
Stabbed at my chest, at my heart it pressed.

Coldly said he “I your demise will be.”
Still standing, I was staring like a herring
Who is sadly peering down a clearing
At the gun that flashes life before the eyes.

It was at this time, that I realized, my demise.
His eyes did not lie, but prophesied right
To my mind, exactly what he wanted to sigh.
And this sigh my courage it did buy.

My fear now started to appear, but slowly
Like a slow killing disease it first took my knees.
My knees now knocking, I now felt my chest locking
And I knew surely now I cannot really flee.

Filled with a fear that frees the mind,
I, for a time lost control of that mind,
Which now danced with dreams of death, and lies,
Sorrowed by my own demise, and those flies.

Laughing, now I would try him to pacify.
Mingled with a cry my words did fly.
“Good sir, I implore you, patient with me be,
But I couldn’t ignore the first statement you explored.”

Trying now, so desperate to free my eyes
From those flies which prophesied my demise.
I though I could distract the one
Who would or could possibly bring my demise to me.

“At the first of our meet on this street,
Your warned me with a shout to watch out,
Or I would have passed by without so much a cry,
A show from which I don’t even know.”

“My good man said he,” with a grin and a gloat
“I only said that to catch your poor goat.”
“And now it is caught and forever will rot
For from me your soul cannot be wrought.”

Shrieking almost slinking, I wished to run away
Not with him or his whim did I want to play.
But he only repeated that I was defeated,
And now I could not help but to believe it.

It consumed me, and struck down my tyranny,
For now, from him, I could not want to flee.
My eyes did change dark like the night skies,
Like those accursed filthy flies of demise.

It was at this dark time, my entrapped mind,
Heard a word, or three, it heard something speaking to me.
Was it my thought, or from the ill man wrought?
These words that were speaking while peaking in me.

“It was me” was the words that were tearing,
Tearing almost wearing my soul for me.
But what could it mean for my sea,
These three who would now not let me be.

Repeating, they were beating all his gleaming
And all the while preventing me from dreaming.
My eyes lost his flies and at once saw the sky,
It was starry gleaming, and full of meaning.

Now looking here and there turning everywhere,
I found that the man in black was nowhere.
He had disappeared and left me somewhere,
It was near my home, where I started my stroll.

As I went in I paused along with a tear,
At my parlor’s dark wood and glass mirror,
The one in which my reflection never ceased to appear,
It was here and there where we would long stare.

As I look up to see my old friend again,
In the mirror that tells me no lies,
I saw my demise, looking at me with a grin.
And his eyes burned dark to flies.

Dreams of night skies and pitiful lies took
My mind and for that time I say the sky.
All reasoning did flee and with heart beating,
My mind was repeating, “My demise, my demise.”

Before I could cry I did realize that in one eye,
His flies followed mine perfectly by and by,
And it was at that moment, at that time,
I realized that his flies were mine.

And now forever I walk with myself and me;
That cold dark man will never from me leave.

by Ryan Wormald

A Melody of Strings

The piano strings bring to my mind beautiful things,
As the butterfly spreads its wings and flies away.
The sun lights the trees and tells me its spring.
As the rose pedals color bright my day.
The touch from the hand is softer still,
Than the breeze on my warm cheek.
Just as love in time is more than the thrill
So deepens the care of the willing and meek.
Dreams bring images of kisses and daises
As soft running streams drown sorrows away.
Even the quite voice carries far across the sea,
As the rising sun brings to us the warm day,
And the lovers kiss carries more with it,
Than the evening, tropical, pattering rain.
And it’s the quieter softer things that better fit
A world of love and peace without the pain.

by Ryan Wormald