The Sweet Fortune Of A Gift Poem by Kevin Patrick

When I've sat in the private stadium
At the front row bleachers of pessimistic desolation
That clings to me like a Sunday Church Vest
Tying knots in my insides with tenebrous hesitation
I place an ornament of your saints visage
For salvations renewal in an arrow from a lighthouse
Piercing the worms making homes in my shadows
That you cleanse sanctifying fatigued sailors woos
In the tidal cornucopia on life's battlefields.
Purifying the danger when your presents is near

And in the retreat where silent desperation sat
as a banquet of introspections cholesterol
fêted with solvent nihilistic carbohydrates
sedating the systolic hypertension that protruded
anxiety as cranium indigestion
the simple cork of the fatal cylinder is the very reflection of you
that decreases the tension for fixed alleviation
your my handy pepto-bismal that quickens my cathartic diuretic
Sweating the resentment for cool satisfaction
just from the thought
That you're the person who cares about me
showing me the light in the heart of darkest night


Even in the quietest moments
that spans the sounds between lightning and the thunder
In the slow-motion tension of the waiting trepidation
You'll be my eternal summer that I will never surrender
Where the child still sleeps under the sycamore tree
Sunshine splintering the branches of the hugging leaves
As myriad forms of luminosity swim as mischievous pixies
And freckled laughter passing the air of nostalgic reminiscence
That is a renaissance of happiness that even down the final road
Ill head back to sleep in when the final dream begins again
And make that undiscovered country a colony for you
A land where innocence is forever bound
In the sweet fortune of a mothers gift