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Patrick McCombs Mar 2016
Nameless, faceless
An indescribable void
An overwhelming
Strangling
Shroud
That I can't shake off
That no one can see

To the people who don't know
Don't tell me to "just talk to people"
If there was an easy way out
Of my self constructed maze
I would take it.
Patrick McCombs Mar 2016
I inscribe my poems in chalk  
Scribble them on the pavement
Even though tomorrow it will rain
Because in the fleeting moment of its existence
I hope a stranger will stumble upon it
And be moved by the random encounter
Patrick McCombs Mar 2016
The pavement sings
As my rubber connects
To the wordless song
That lies deep in the earth
My pace and my breath aligns
With that inherent rhythm
That arises from travel
A song that all travelers know
A song that had no end
Patrick McCombs Mar 2016
Beyond the borders of our empire
Beyond the oceans of everstorm
Where man first rose from this earth
In the shadows of the western hills
There, buried deep underground
Lies a truth beyond our understanding
Received by prophets of ages past
Long forgotten by the ravages of time
But it's existence lingers in our consciousness
Like a spirit who shall not be exorcised
Every myth from every culture
Has tried to explain this truth
The truth of our origins
The church has declared me a heretic
You, the public have condemned me
But I do not blame you
The blind can not be expected to see
A lie often repeated becomes truth
But I have seen beyond that
I have seen the invisible strings
That hold everything together
They all connect to this single point
I must make the journey, no, the pilgrimage
To the shadows of the western hills
Patrick McCombs Mar 2016
A salty mist sprays into the air,
As water crashes against the shore.
A lone gull glides against the wind,
Over an abandoned January beach.
The sun, a cold dot in the bleak sky.
Patrick McCombs Feb 2016
Sometimes in the depths of the silence
From the back of my tiny shack
I can hear your laughter
Ever since I boarded that train
To travel out west to the territories
Every cell in your body has changed
You've become a different person  
When I read your replies
I don't hear your voice
I constantly look at your photo
To remind myself
What you look like
And why I am here
But I'm starting to feel the strain
Of the three thousand miles
That are between us
I long for the day
When instead of paper and ink
You will be flesh and blood
When you're no longer just words on a page
And I can hear your laugh again
Patrick McCombs Feb 2016
Maybe you were never really there
Maybe the park never happened
I could never prove it
All evidence was destroyed
In the wake of your sudden departure
Memories faded
Like old photographs
Tucked away
Forgotten in shoeboxes
When you flood my mind
I write you letters to dispel your ghost
A one sided conversation
With your unknowable future
Boxes full of unsent letters
Someday I'll burn them all
And hope that the smoke
Carries my words to you
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