Tag Archives: Personal Story

The Unsatisfied

I buy and spend all that I can,
Just to satisfy me.
I learn what I can to understand,
Just to satisfy me.

I do not understand why it does not
Help to satisfy me,
These things do not, that sit and rot,
Help to satisfy me.

I begged all the rot that I bought,
“Oh please satisfy me.”
To that which I bought, “what is my lot?
“Oh please satisfy me.”

My lot is to grasp not in my hand,
What will satisfy me.
For that in my hand is like the sand,
What will satisfy me?

So falls the sand, to grieve my heart,
Never to satisfy me.
Alas! The dreams of my heart do depart,
Never to satisfy me.

“Depart foul dreams, I want you not,
Do not satisfy me.
I love you not, you vile dark spot
Do not satisfy me!”

Now in this spot my heart does rot,
For it will not satisfy me.
In this rot I cry at the thought,
For it will not satisfy me.
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

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

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


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