Patrick Wescott Poems

Death at twenty-three isn't a bad thing.
A hair cut and change of clothes,
could be the nails in my coffin.
Cover the tattoos,
...

Take a walk down rainbow corridors,
step into the great white hall,
and there you will find the door.
...

Let us tempt fate,
just one more time
just one last time.
Let us bluff the Reaper,
...

Your imprint still sits on your pillow.
Blankets lay balled from your last slumber.
I turned out your light as angels watch,
and touched where you slept and dreamt away.
...

Your shadows danced in and out of my periphery.
You've caressed my mind and gave comfort when needed.
Touches, voices, spirits imparted, and journeys taken.
...

I have hated you with the very core of my being.
I have despised your very existence at times.
My life was shaped by the harsh childhood you bestowed on me.
And yet, I am who I am because of the pain, hatred, and raw emotion you made me feel.
...

The waves crash the shore,
like the thoughts in my mind.
And the storm swells
to the point of breaking.
...

The green glow of spring
hides what happens inside.
New life explodes
to herald in your end.
...

I should have stayed the night!
Car is wrecked as I walk the miles.

Why did we go for a drink?
...

Maybe spring floods can wash it away
the grains of the past that cling like dust
Old town that seems like a stranger
washed into a resemblance of memory
...