Wyatt St. Dymphna ✟

Teenage loser turned poet. ✦ He/Him ✦ 18 ✦ English student ✦ (All poetry posted belongs to me, if copied proper credit is needed.)

[wyattstdymphna]

Introduction

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

My name is Wyatt, I write under the pen name Wyatt St. Dymphna.

I am 18 years old and study English in Amsterdam.

I am a literature enthusiast and an amateur poet, I am currently working on my first poetry bundle called "Storms That Birth Poets"

I hope to meet fellow poets here, and I hope to finally do something with years of poetry stacked in a google document.

Love,

Wyatt

[wyattstdymphna]

Sober

I win a little every day

When I go without looking at the bottle

That I didn’t finish on my birthday

When I walk past the coffee shop

Without considering a short stop

When my skin stays uncarved

And my body not starved

I refuse the easy way

And choose to fight and pray

[luc1f3rs-pl3as]

The Geometry of Longing

I see the shadow where your light should fall,

A patch of dusk that lingers by your chair,

And watch you watch a brighter, better star,

And learn the geometry of your despair.

I trace the longing in your upturned face,

A map of hopes my roads can never meet,

And feel the chill of that distant, perfect place

Where his light falls in waves of golden heat.

I know my name you never will recall

When greater voices whisper from afar.

My syllables, like withered leaves, will fall

While you attend the music of his sphere.

You find the wit I lack upon his tongue,

The easy grace, the quick, incisive art,

The strength I never owned within his hand,

The confident, unhesitating heart.

When my poor, faltering, ancient songs are sung

In minor keys, on an untuned, old string,

You'll hear the music of a finer, younger land,

The vibrant anthem that the future sings.

You'll turn your ear from my muted, dusty sound

To where his brilliant, soaring melodies begin,

And all the quiet comfort I have found

You'll count as loss, and as a kind of sin.

I am the echo, fading and unsure,

A voice that answers what was never asked,

The faded sketch beside a masterpiece,

A memory in silver, thinly cast.

I am the candle in the high-noon glare,

The patient moss upon a common stone,

A single, silent figure on the square

When all the bustling, joyous crowd has gone.

I know my love can offer no true cure

For wants that in your secret heart increase;

It has no brilliant spectacle or lure,

It only asks for peace, and grants you peace.

It cannot build the palaces you seek,

Nor crown you with the laurels of renown,

It only murmurs, humble, faithful, meek,

And lays its weathered cloak upon the ground.

So I will love you, and in silence keep

This trove of treasures you have never known—

The quiet harbor where the wild winds sleep,

The steadfast earth beneath your spinning stone.

I'll love the you that turns away from me,

And in this loving, find a bitter grace,

While you find rest in arms that do not weep,

And in a brighter, more deserving face.

[wyattstdymphna]

Coffee

Shall I compareth thee,

to a cup of coffee?

the punch of warmth that fills my belly

when I get the faint hint of you glaring at me

followed by the bitter aftertaste of sorrow

because I know I will not see you tomorrow 

because I know you were not really glaring 

but despite your disinterest, I will keep staring

in the hopes of meeting your dark eyes secretly 

like a cup of coffee I will drink you greedily

you have left me with no choice

but to soak in the warmth of your voice 

when you don’t know that I’m listening 

to every word that you’re whispering

now I have grown to need you like I need my coffee

and I pray that one day you too, will need me

[wyattstdymphna]

My mesmerising stranger

all of this will sound so vain

because I don’t even know your name

but my eyes are always searching for you 

hypnotising stranger, if only you knew

that every cup of coffee reminds me of your skin

you got me caught in a war I won’t ever win

you have never even noticed me

my mesmerising stranger, set me free

[wyattstdymphna]

truly embodying the starving poet aesthetic these days

[wyattstdymphna]

The Best

a constant wanting

to be more than what I am

to be the youngest in the building 

to do more than what I can

so that I know in the end

when I am a withered man

I will be able to rest 

beneath the comfortable soil

remembered as the best

[wyattstdymphna]

Winter Thoughts

On winter days I go on walks in the dark

I pretend I can leave my body behind

and let my soul wander around the empty park

when I return I find the roads filled with cars

and Christmas lights shining brightly in the trees

for a moment I feel like I'm surrounded by stars

and I wonder if this is what my brother sees

[wyattstdymphna]

Celibacy

Oh celibacy

With all your beauty

Save me

From humanity

[wyattstdymphna]

Mother

My mother doesn’t hug me                                                                             but I feel her arms around me when she quietly hands me my favourite chocolate bar 

My mother doesn’t kiss me                                                                             but I feel her lips on my forehead when she takes care of my injuries

My mother doesn’t tell me she loves me                                                     but I read it in every “I'm home” text

My mother doesn’t ask me much                                                                but she notices everything 

My mother may seem cold to many                                                              because her warmth is reserved for me alone

[wyattstdymphna]

Yearning For Spring

I yearn for spring

so to spring I cling

but now fall has arrived

and I’ve been deprived

of the hot summer sun

by constantly trying to run

back to when everything was fine

back to when my reflection was mine

by being stuck in what once was

I made happiness a lost cause

[wyattstdymphna]

Rain

I will cry with you

I will hide your tears

I will cling to you

I will roll off with ease

I will comfort you

like no human ever could

[wyattstdymphna]

Cruel Rituals

Look at the 8 limbed creature                                                                        A nightly procedure

What was meant to create life                                                                        Now substitutes a knife

The disappearance of the individual                                                          Such a cruel ritual

[wyattstdymphna]

Autumn

Autumn is when I feel

less alone than other times

For when the leaves are brown 

and the sky is grey

I feel as though my dark soul

is mocked less by the cruel sunlight

And I can be dark and melancholy 

together with nature