Our time is nearly gone
After winter comes the dawn
Will your sunshine smile rise again?
Must I now face this unknown when?
I dread to dream of dreary days
To live without your charming ways
And tangle with the heavy weather
While I dream of us together
But a favor I now ask of you
Your tender lips 'gainst mine
Ere we bid ado?
Monday, November 17, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Anthropomorphic
Seriously, that is one weird word. Anthropomorphic. It's kinda fun just to roll off your tongue.
I apologize in advance for this post, as it may tend toward a deep-ish, reflective tone that would undoubtedly be better suited to a 16-year old's MySpace page than to a blog that no one reads (yet).
Many people have told me I'm not a typical guy (anatomically and gender-wise, I'm pretty sure I've got the proper junk in my trunk if you catch my drift). That I'm in touch with my "feminine side" and when my friends talk about the ass-men, they graciously add a footnote excepting me. But am I really so different from my card-carrying bretheren? This brings me to what I really want to ask here: who am I?
A tough question, right? "You're a child of God!" is one answer, which I am intimitely familliar with (believe me). "You're a friend." is another which, while heart-warming, is less than filling (like a double cheeseburger). "You're Rylan." which has been, by far, the simultaneously best and worst answer of the bunch.
My own answer-in-a-minute-or-less? I am whoever I want people to see. I'm trying to get a girl to like me? I become polite, engaging, and employ nearly every social tool at my disposal in the hopes of one day (between now and before I die) doing my own rendition of the Tango Maureen. Dinner with my cousin or close friends? I'm one sarcastic sonofabitch with a near-permanent smile and awful repartee.
And that, dear friends, is some deep, anthropomorphic blargh.
I apologize in advance for this post, as it may tend toward a deep-ish, reflective tone that would undoubtedly be better suited to a 16-year old's MySpace page than to a blog that no one reads (yet).
Many people have told me I'm not a typical guy (anatomically and gender-wise, I'm pretty sure I've got the proper junk in my trunk if you catch my drift). That I'm in touch with my "feminine side" and when my friends talk about the ass-men, they graciously add a footnote excepting me. But am I really so different from my card-carrying bretheren? This brings me to what I really want to ask here: who am I?
A tough question, right? "You're a child of God!" is one answer, which I am intimitely familliar with (believe me). "You're a friend." is another which, while heart-warming, is less than filling (like a double cheeseburger). "You're Rylan." which has been, by far, the simultaneously best and worst answer of the bunch.
My own answer-in-a-minute-or-less? I am whoever I want people to see. I'm trying to get a girl to like me? I become polite, engaging, and employ nearly every social tool at my disposal in the hopes of one day (between now and before I die) doing my own rendition of the Tango Maureen. Dinner with my cousin or close friends? I'm one sarcastic sonofabitch with a near-permanent smile and awful repartee.
And that, dear friends, is some deep, anthropomorphic blargh.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Because I'm Too Shy to Say So
Wonder at blue, cloudless skies
Sun drenched breezes flow
Drinking the smile from your visage
Clumsy words caught in my throat,
"I think I love you"
Strikes a hammer blow to the ears
The sound of silence contrasts velvet soft
That your smile would speak aloud
To be tray a hint of your heart's true life
Sun drenched breezes flow
Drinking the smile from your visage
Clumsy words caught in my throat,
"I think I love you"
Strikes a hammer blow to the ears
The sound of silence contrasts velvet soft
That your smile would speak aloud
To be tray a hint of your heart's true life
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