Kevin Patrick II

This poem, is not a poem
But an SOS for you; the lonely and the lost
On the island of misfit toys
...

The rain
Cries in the dark
of a bible black sky
As a chill stirs, sweeping, autumns
...

So sweet, so polite your pure sugar and cyanide
a capsule marked compassion your cruelties certified
Your smile, your poise is just a manicured vice
A cosmetic act to hide your venomous disguise
...

I only feel beutiful
When I'm covered in the dark
And no light can ever pierce
The serenity of my scars
...

This is the end
And I don't no where it began
Somewhere down the line, it unraveled in a mess
now the stories been lost under
...

She took me on a ride on the gothic express
Raven hair Madonna in Wednesday night dress
Lips of pure midnight from sorrows snow white
Dragging my desires in her plight of delight
...

Frost bites
The windowpanes
Coating frail glass with ice
A chill seeps through the livingroom
...

I can't hide when midnights knocking at the door
And I can't scream on the ledge of another cold war
The times are changing and the kids aren't alright
The next generation's underneath a land slide
...

I only want you...
When your not here
but when you are here
I can't be near you
...

Pass the third baseball diamond
at legions park
Along the bike path towards
The civic complex
...

A most beautiful lie holds greater allure then the ugliest truth

truth requires evidence lies deny their existence truth demands accuracy lies are marked of ill aim truth is free with honesty lies profit in deceit Truth sees demons in our nature Lies make angels of our crimes
...

Beyond the great plains of green eggs and ham
Past the pillars of Didd where time turns to spam
Near the kingdom of Binn where all Whos are skinned on the oceans of sin where necromancers grin
...

Death
Is birth
In reverse
where memory becomes a blank slate throwing back to the void as we return to sleeps womb
...

Isn't it romantic?
To say you would die for someone
When the real hard work
Is having to live with someone?
...

The crime of the poor
Is that they cannot afford
The wealth to be cruel
...

From a seed of a thought that germs into being
They grow, steadily and mercilessly
Both devious and insidious
An idea
...

Yesterday
I was in the jungle of a restaurant
(poorly camouflaged)
...

Faith, collapses beneath reasons weight
Crushing those who stay in its walls
And ignorance seals their doom
when they refuse to move
...

Send it to a Gulag at the bottom of the world
Then throw it into the dustbin of history
Let it rot stinking in some high security vault
Abandoned behind steel eating its own misery
...

Patriots are the thugs of fascists
Becoming devoted servants
Willing to commit evil
Loyal without mercy
...