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
Tag: the watcher
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
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
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.
The Goldenrod Bloomed Today
Tall, slender, leafy green rods
Shower out their brilliant yellows
Marking the crest of summers glory
Harbinger to the falling leaf
A Birthday Lunch 07/15/23
The rain came down
Torrent
Rivulets off metal and shingled roofing
Cascading
Turbulent
Over every surface
A glass sheen
Thick an sinewous
Elastic
Everything within it’s grasp
Lay frozen beneath a mirrored plane
Separated from air
Unable to gasp
Drowning
Sealed by the thickness of a thought
Furrowed Fields
It wasn’t that long ago for me
I still remember
Summer fields fresh plowed
Planted with seed
Green tips slipping upwards
Little fingers grasping for sun
Watchful of the blackbirds
Grey-brown grasshoppers slowly grazing
Very much like an errant cow
Turned into the wrong field
Yes
I remember tripping over the tilled furrow
Clumsily wandering about my chores
Daydreaming about some other life
The future
Now here I am
Oddly wandering in my golden years
Picking through each furrow of my mind
One moment I am the locust
Next the slow grazing cow
Searching out each savory grain
Every tender green wisp
Until reality wakens me
And the startled crow
Nimble and quick
Takes flight
Gleaning away another memory
Forgotten
The Grass Grows Tall
Distant hills and ridge lines fade into the hazy grey of hot humidity
White clover edges out the crimson in their number
The yellow-black stripping of the bees competes quietly with the hummingbird for nectar
Lost among the slender tubes of honeysuckle and trumpeter vine
I find myself content to watch the pale lime green of buds transform from winters brown nodules into verdant colors of hand sized leaf
Even the constant change of sky
First downcast in early morning fog
Then radiant golden as sun blazes through
Only to once again darken by the approach of rain
These bring me happiness
All the while measuring the width and height of the labor to come
False Promises Nouveau 