Poetry Blog by Tristan Ayran

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lynn hahn on We Were Wallpapers (Fri, 20 Jan 2017 04:07 am)

Randall Eckstein on We Were Wallpapers (Fri, 20 Jan 2017 01:30 am)

Tristan Ayran on We Were Wallpapers (Thu, 19 Jan 2017 03:14 pm)

Andromeda on Footprints in the Sand (Wed, 18 Jan 2017 10:51 pm)

on That Which Holds All (Wed, 18 Jan 2017 08:19 am)

Randall Eckstein on That Which Holds All (Wed, 18 Jan 2017 05:49 am)

Tristan Ayran on Footprints in the Sand (Mon, 16 Jan 2017 11:27 pm)

raypool on Footprints in the Sand (Mon, 16 Jan 2017 11:19 pm)

on War and the Universe (Mon, 16 Jan 2017 09:44 am)

Sydney Southers on War and the Universe (Mon, 16 Jan 2017 04:24 am)

We Were Wallpapers

we were not the flavors 

of a beautiful painting,

 

but rather, the starched sheet

of an endless wallpaper

stranded in a cyclical design

that we drew ourselves,

 

unable to cling to the walls for a lifetime.

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hopelosslove

That Which Holds All

so, I spent the night
watching her sleep.

and by dawn,

I was convinced.

the great beyond is not made up of particles
or elements.

or galaxies or stars.

but rather,
it is a pair of raven eyes

that holds this turbulent universe 
in the skyline.

 

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love

Footprints in the Sand

So, I switch my gaze back towards the ocean

and listen to it's
tranquil music-

a melody
I could only imagine

would sound sweeter
had there still been

two sets of footprints in the sand.

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War and the Universe

and when you look up and

watch the carmine sunset riding the clouds,

 

know that those are the blood

of the universes that fought so valiantly

 

to have our constellations vibrant and incandescent

in their boundless mausoleums.

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hopelovewar

The Way Back

and just like that,

the nights 
have adapted a darker shade,

the morning sun
has lost its taste

and the northern stars 
have gone and misplaced themselves

trying

to show us the right directions.

and the way back.

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love

Album of the Sea

There's a wistful song entangled in my head,

uplifting itself in the hushed hours of dawn.

 

and I can’t decide what it is, exactly.

and I’m not entirely sure where it comes from.

 

but in the understories of the ambience,

I can hear the brash thrust of the waves toward the sand,

and then the slow draw-backs of the ocean crusade,

carrying pebbles and sea shells and whate...

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