The Torn Letter, From the Book of Pat

Another Wakeful Dream

I’ve been here before…

This same dust filled room.

I have sat there in the same worn, mildewed, moth eaten chair, and watched the silent currents blow the cobwebs into movement.

I have watched the micro world’s blown about as dust in the light of each passing day.

There every page of life is written, collected, and bound. The work of a legion of unseen hands.

Every letter, every mark upon the page, created by a host of beings.

Beings that etch their knowledge simultaneously into the condensed lines of unreadable script.

Linking infinite worlds and paths.

Information and energy never disappoint

Recorded beyond the boundaries of forever

Relics of bygone years

Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, all things are vanity

Death in a deathless place

Life in a place of despair

There grows the knowledge

Torn from the roots of trees

Grown fruitless in the withering breeze

And when you look for what it is you find

It’s then you loose your place

In the endless fantastic we craft

Loosing The War


Late nights all alone

Staring out into dark places

Listening more to forgotten voices

Than a person should

Shadowy death clouds the sight

Some nostalgic musings

Remembering long walks in open woods

The distances between school and home

Forgotten rides to and from

Sudden rains and freezing cold

The wants of being needy

All those hand-me-downs

Ill fitting shoes from musty closets 

Going without and not knowing it

Growing up

Wanting to give what I didn’t have

Finding out you can never give enough

To wipe away childhood things

Unable to change any of that

Staring out into dark places

Remembering you use to call it home

A Sunday Morning ConfessionDirect from the Book of Pat

When I was a kid. I wore hand-me-down shoes a lot of the time until my feet grew bigger than everyone else.
Then I got one pair of shoes.
You’d think as an old man I’d buy more shoes but instead I find that I now just don’t throw old pairs away.
I set them by the door and try using them until one day glue and plastic bags no longer work to hold them together. Then I toss them in the garbage.

There are some days I get in a hurry and forget to take off my good pair.
I feed the chickens and ducks getting muck and gunk caked into the soles and tread. Large sticky mats of hay, feather, and bird poop clumping up usually in the arch and flicking onto the laces.
It’s horrible.

On Sunday morning as I prepare for church I inspect those shoes.
I see how well I did in keeping them clean during the week deciding on just how much effort it’s going to be to wash them clean.
Sometimes I can do it in the bathroom sink where under the bright lights every little speck can be seen clearly. Most times it’s so bad that I have to stand over the kitchen garbage can and scrape off the “shit”. (I tried not to say shit but it is what it is.) Then moving to the kitchen sink I use an old worn toothbrush and wooden toothpick to scrub with detergent and pick out the treads all the filth I managed to pick up through the week. Then when I think I’m satisfied I go to the bathroom, under the bright lights to see the grit and stains left behind.

If you skipped the body of my true story, just reading paragraph speaking points, what I’m saying is this…

All week we/I try very hard to respect the foundations your/my parents taught you/me. To cherish and value what you/I have. To worship God and follow His commandments as best as we/I know how.


Many days, weeks, months I do him honor and keep myself worthy to walk into his house. Yet it takes but one unconscious decision for me to fail for there is no righteous man who walks upon this earth that does not sin.
No matter how often I wash those shoes clean, I’ll get dirt on them as I walk through the churches parking lot.
I’m glad God understands and forgives.

… sometimes I just take my shoes off at the door and go barefoot because I know I am walking upon Holy Ground.

Praise God, Praise His Holy Name!

An Autumn Day

The heart grows weary as the cold nights lengthen
The wicked gather
Adorned in riches of jewels and gold
Where are the vigilant that tend the watchfires
Have they abandoned their duty to glean the crops
Why have the wise men ceased their understanding
Frequenting instead the alehouse and tavern
Alone the traveler wanders
Burdened by knowledge that the gates have all been barred
Highwaymen prowl like lions
The blind, arrogant, and foolish fall prey
And from the rooftops the innocent crying leap
But there are none to stop their fall

The Rain Upon the Windowsill

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.

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