Brian Patrick
My head pounds with each beat of my heart
The pounding grows with every second that passes
Seconds turn into eternities of distress
That distress grows into pain beyond endurance
The pounding continues to drain my spirit – hah
Pills and drink only mask what is happening in my head
Throbbing, throbbing, throbbing
My thoughts are turning inward – **** dastardly thoughts
The throbbing won’t leave my head – it’s ever-present
The darkness is growing inside of me with every beat of my heart
Thoughts, gruesome thoughts, start to take form in the psyche
They churn and grow into such images of despair and worthlessness
A .38 feels so real and yet heavy in my trembling hand
Blue steel should do the job and consummate the end
Swift flight through the jaw into the throbbing head
No more throbbing or pain, nor thoughts of demons – just serenity
A blade might be nice – to the jugular, the deed is done
The slow drip allows me to contemplate my demise
To see those things that drove me to this end
Slowly easing into nothingness might be the way to end the pain
Whatever chosen method of demise – this earthly life betrayed
Shall allow this body to die and decay over the timeless drift
To end this stay that has tormented my means throughout my time
I cling no more to thoughts unreachable and painful only to fall into requiem
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
John Keats
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,—
Nature's observatory—whence the dell,
In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
Brian Patrick
Slowly it invades all senses
Drifting into the realm of daylight
As the daylight dwindles it is replaced
By the emptiness of the dark
As one diminishes, another appears
Bright against the black sky
Crying out for human gaze
Since time has remembered
With the bright beacon of the sky
Comes the wafting mist
The mist that harbors the cold
Chills that permeate through the soul
The darkness of the night beckons the immortals
From the nether world to the surface
Looking for souls to capture and revile
As mine is being torn from my chest
The calls from the dark are strong
Strong enough to pull my being into Valhalla
Slipping into the vortex that is the night
Falling into the void that will hold me forever
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
My heart is heavy today at the loss of such an incredible inspiration to the arts community. Her poetry is the reason I was inspired to write, to be who I am destined to be, and to always live and fight for what I believe in. Maya Angelou wasn't just a poet, she was a movement, providing never ending insight and knowledge to the community and marching along with us during the civil rights. Maya Angelou, what a dent your absence will leave behind, but what a beautiful picture painted words you have left us. I had always dreamed of meeting you one day, but now I know that day will never come (at least in the physical world anyway). Thank you Maya Angelou for your knowledge, your strength, and your never ending guidance. You showed us the world through a different pair of eyes and it is that reason I now know why the caged bird sings!
Rest Peacefully Dr. Maya Angelou!
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
Every seven years i heard that the cells in your naked body is destroyed and replaced
by a new set of clean cells and its quite a nice feeling knowing
that in just 2 years my body will have never been touched by your bare big hands
my skin will become pure it can
stop rusting like it has been deep under the ocean for thousands of years
i cant wait for the day i come to the surface and just breathe a new oxygen
and you.. you will be out of my mind, and i.. i will not be afraid of you anymore
and you will continue to rot like i have been rotting for 5 years 6 months and 23 days
j.f
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
Brian Patrick
Insidious by its very nature
Yet soothing to those who indulge
It calls upon its broken cohort
Every two hours like a sentinel
It silently creeps along the mire
The Reaper within smiling and leering as he
Calls upon the Banshee McLemore
Searching for the wanton easy prey
Somehow the Poison drifts along the ebb
The shore becomes a winter haven
Solace among the rubble and waste
The storm as the background for a living hell
The innocents have no fight with the
Pinprick that brings their bodies delight
Off into the realm of self edification
The familiar warmth that overtakes
The warmth that turns into stark heat
Fluttering eyes look to the heavens
The beauty that is McLemore, lips waiting
Death in all its beauty awaits
To be stolen from the claws of McLemore
Cheated from the Reaper's blade
The spray that awakens the departed
Another snatched from the clutches of the Poison...
...has risen
© 2014 Brian Patrick
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC
Brian Patrick
A gift is given without expectation of return
A gift is wrapped in anticipation
A gift can be hidden in finery
A gift is accepted without question or hesitation
A gift may be breath into life
A gift is a feeling beyond mere words
A gift brings joy and solace
A gift allows total abandon
My gift is beyond all expectations
My gift is tall, blonde and exquisite
My gift is the greatest promise of life renewed
My gift is totally mine without reservation
Thankful for my gift of love
Thankful for my gift of life
Thankful for gift of beauty
Thankful for my gift of forever
© 2014 Brian Patrick
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Brian Patrick
Tall, knowledgeable, caring, jovial and holy
Respected by many; exalted by others
His road – the road that should be taken
Irish of course, but not of the old sod
The unattainable, becomes at once, attainable
Your reckoning lightened by his words
The Black Robe is a tale to be told by all who believe
Believers they may be, but not for ease of living
He, The Black Robe, beckons you to seek his countenance
Consolation is offered within the folds of his robes
You accept the gift without hesitation of belief
Your belief in the blood sacrifice of the unbelievable
The comfort of refuse offered by The Cassock
Truly blackens with the deceit of the unholy
All too friendly for men and boys
The betrayal all too familiar for me
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
Brian Patrick
Plodding, trudging, slogging through the reeds
Praying for death or at the very least – rescue
Sweat and muck mingle as one
Sliding down my face and pouring over my body
Why me? I have no repair
Looking behind; not a human in sight
The arrows fly by whizzing in the dark
Into the mud I go – fearful
The light in the distance beckons
My limbs giving way to the weight
The rope catches my neck and tightens
Into the Chart House dragged to no avail
My captors start the endless mindless dance
I am at the beginning of my long goodbye
Dare I give them the dark secret they desire
Never, never …
… the blood trickles down my ***** neck.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
Brian Patrick
Cold blooded, darkly dripping
Teeth; long, sharp and oozing red
Nails extending beyond the reach
Wings embracing the night sky
Beelzebub scans the upper crust
His cantations include the depth of misery
The collector of souls and destroyer of flesh
The Rake, the conveyor of death
After the vernal equinox, preparations to begin
The first of the year yields way to St. Wineblad
Blood, body and soul gathered
More to continue for Walpurgis
As the sun sets, the three-eyed raven appears
The signal propels The Rake to flight
Searching, searching for worthy sacrifants
Low over the cornfields he marks his prey
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC