It is Time

I'm here though it is the last place
I want to be.
I want to
Soar
Explore
Do More -
Be.
This place, here,
is not me,
I am not free
to explore,
or implore
Life to my side.
I am fearful
of what is next
without this place.
Though it is as
a bad lover,
there is a part of me
who holds this place
Dear.
But that place is
Fear -
that place in me is
unrequited repression
a tepid obsession
of someone who
does not desire
Change.
Perhaps I hold onto
Lost Love
or a childhood past.
Part of me is struggling
to give up that which
no longer serves.
I have outgrown my
current life;
to stay is to die
to explore is to fly.
My soul will be the judge
manifesting through my
day-to-day.
It is Time.

-2/1/18, MR

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Welcome To RameySpace.com

Hey there! Poet and Artist Matt Ramey here. Welcome to my collection of poems, stories, and other works of art. Poke around and see what you like. I am sure there is something here that will resonate with you and where you are at on your life path. As always, I'm looking forward to sharing this journey with you. -Ramey

The Next Step

The Next Step has always come to me. Even if I ignore it It whispers in soft voice never leaving my side even though I fight it. Some steps are easy to take some steps require all of my effort and even then I may fall short. First it was quit my job. Then it was give up my TV. Now it is sell my house. Each step has been better than the last though this Next Step is proving the most challenging yet. After all, it has been 10 years in this place. I know it well; the sights, the sounds, the people, the neighborhood. It is my 'creature comfort'. But as an animal grows used to its cage so I have grown used to mine and have used comfort as an excuse to stop my growth. I think I moved to the suburbs much too young. The beckoning now calls to me from unrealized fruitions of times past and market dynamics. It might not be the sexiest of reasons but it is the perfect storm. What is a...

Cherry Blossoms

When nine hours is not enough, and time speeds up when next to you, I wonder, what do I need to do, to get nine hours more? Our lives are so different, yet still the same. Different backgrounds colors types yet your depth is always there. You wrote of Cherry Blossoms and passed it off as naught but I see what you are longing for. MR, 8/5/19

The Words

Fear hits me like a Bolt of lightning. I race to be seated. The wods are swimming About my mind And long for remembering. Paceful steps, I race to sit, Yet on my way I am calmed by a Knowing. The Words Are always there And will never leave me. My gait shortens My pace slows Calmness ensues, And I am whole once more. -MR, 8/6/19

The Call

Disarray is my voice all of me is in Upheaval, but to what end? A solemn future or wandering cascades of matured dreams? I am open to everything as I wait for the next step to show itself. It is as a curious doe startled and stunned with my Movement. The next step watches from afar, speaks softly so I must strain to hear. If I miss it it becomes quieter Though it never fades. I soon must strain to listen a pin drop on a pin. But the call is louder than ever. In this place of relative nothing there is Everything. In this place of profound change there is inordinate growth. A Slumbering Energy has been awoke and though I seek to tame it, I spin in so many directions. The energy is so strong, so powerful, so all consuming, that I am afraid to fully commit because the results might be more than I can currently handle. But I am alive once more. I am seeing once again though as for the first time I ...

The Universe's Little Reminder

I am immortal, omniscient, and powerful. My legacy will live on in perpetuity. The snow is gently falling outside and so am I. Rising too quickly I lose my balance and stumble head first into a wall. I catch myself before anything happens. Anxiety and trepidation fills me as I realize I am not eternal. I stand for only a few moments, collecting myself, contemplating life, and existence. I am a mere breath, a wisp in the cosmic scheme of things. Will I live on? How will I be remembered? As a tyrant or as a saint? Surely somewhere in-between. As my anxiety fades a humbleness ensues. A gentle reminder that time is not infinite and all I can know is brevity. What will I do with this little reminder? -MR, 10/14/18

I Do Love Her

I do love her, but in my own way. Constant distractions of passionate resolve. Close enough now I falter, my dubious heritage seeps to destroy again. Excuses become reasons to play a familiar role. "I am better than this." I gently remind myself. Words betray feelings when self-understanding fades. I want it. I want you. I want everything. Once more into the breach dear friends. I still do love her, you know. -MR, 12/7/18

You Tell Me

You tell me You are ready For Love. Words can be so Misleading When actions Do not follow suit. I am ready for you To be ready. In loneliness I am waiting for the day Where you say You will be mine. I am waiting. -7/4/18, MR

Online Dating - 11/18/17

It seems like this world of online dating is for shallow people with shallow dreams. “Beauty is soul deep” they say but not when you are defined by a handful of stilled images. “Am I fuckable?” is what the seekers are truly asking, judging their worth on a point scale where Appearance > Soul. But I want a man (insert woman) who is kind, loving, and sweet. Translation = an ‘8-10’ in the world’s eye. Biographies that say something albeit nothing about who the person truly is. “Hey there” might just be the scariest two syllables in the infinite space of the internet for the hopeful inquisition can be and is often met with a deafening silence. “Am I fuckable?” It appears the answer is no. Heart hurt. These are real people, with real lives, with living souls. Can callousness be so cliché? Or normalized? Sensitized? What say you? -MR, 11/18/17

Two Unfamiliar Faces

Two unfamiliar faces I looked and they looked back Something curious I said laid in between us But here, not there I consciously understood that reason makes no sense while madness was true Therefore, something not heard something never seen can become, ever so briefly, a plank in one’s eye drawn from this space to that never knowing, never ceasing to comprehend the celestial spheres above.

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