Nick Patrick

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Best Poem of Nick Patrick


The cave's black top clamors me forth
With its wistful pattern reaching my ears
Through lauding whispers pointing due north
Subjecting my soul to haughty leers

What it tells is of nothing I have not known
For in this cavern I was raised, it is my birth
Every ridge and crack has been well sewn
With my brittle hands, my body's worth

So I beseech you, dearest, do not hold back
In your campaign to remain ahead of my intent
And if your estimation of my wit be in lack
Check your premises, for mine are not bent

And as you lay waste to much we did ...

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