Quiet words echoing
Silent thoughts repeat
Shadows run through empty hallways
Whispering currents blowing dust
How loud the fluttering moths wings sound
When emotions become numb
Another Page from the Book of Pat 04/16/24
It’s the Bureaucrats, the unelected rule makers that secretly and publicly siphon off your life through penalties and taxes. Like maggots feasting upon your bloated corpse they destroy the healthy flesh just to recreate reality for themselves.
The politicians are just failed individual meat puppets for that machine. The living Ken and Barbie targets for the sheep to worship and hate. Destroy them if you must just never look beyond them into the dark.
It’s when you look beyond that you can see the evil as it truly is. Do you not feel the revulsive gag reflex swelling up and overflowing, as the ooze covered rot seeks to overcome your last defenses of sanity.
Accept the truth. This is the parasite that has eaten into your Constitution and remade sections slowly over time to suit their purpose. It’s time to carve away the blight and cauterize the wound. If you don’t the infection will never heal.
Spring
The cherry tree petals fall
As a white moth flutters about
The forest awakens
And I am reborn
Fading the Day
Walking away
Into shades of grey
Walking away
Light fades to night
I imagine you there
Never turning to see
Even as the horizon
Blends earth and sky
A dream was all we had
And now even that has been taken from us
Nothing is real
Not earth or sky
The nothing is real
Not you or I
Nothing I feel
Makes any sense
The nothing I feel
Brings back the light
Broken Lament
Those peaceful walks through autumn woods lost in guiltless silence
A frigid heart in solitude remorseful of their passing
Thoughts of you wander free tracing tear stained lines from pallid eyes
Displaced in time I watch you fade even as the last of the oak leaves fall
Last to find deaths release
lost love I linger on
Scraps of Paper
Just a bit of broken poetry
Cast aside – abandoned upon the floor
Words I’ve written
Their meaning lost along with their purpose
Each life carries their own tiny bits
Torn and tattered scraps of paper
Scrawled with half formed thoughts
On the backs of old receipts
Amongst the creases of crisp folded napkins
Beginnings fade
And sentences out of place wait
Until in their own time find a little light upon the page
Freedom is the Common Good
Paper and Pen
Check it out
I remember the days before
I remember the days before pouring through the breach from Saudi Arabia into Iraq.
Months sitting idle standing guard, repairing equipment, training over the same lessons.
The season changed but the looming doubt and fear never did. Each day built upon itself like the ever growing dunes that piled up at the tent flaps.
On occasion some other units would become fully activated and ready. The dynamics of our purpose would change. Tents would be pulled down, moved a few hundred miles, then once again assembled. Each time the burm would not be built up so high or as wide. Each trench dug a little shallower and shorter.
We knew. Soon those protections against the world would only be a hindrance in the final day before the breach.
Live or die, most were ready for what outcome there was to be.
You see, those enlightened few had already experienced death, that blissful adrenaline rush over the edge of reality, and now only moved by muscle memory. We knew what we were to do.
Kill and die, live or die, stand up, move again, rinse, repeat. Everyday was the same day. The only difference was the sand and dirt that piled up at the door.
Soon it will be time for those that don’t know to shake back your own tent flaps. Step out into the reality of an endless day, and fight a war you did not prepare for. Those people will believe in Hell that day…
And us devils who know will be there to show you the way.
False Promises Nouveau 