Tuesday, January 02, 2007


Patrick Williams headshot by Patrick Williams

Double-troubled and wicked soul,
The dance of the dead taps on the skull
Each year passes with circular trails
To trace back to the eve of the saints.

Ground and sky mix in color,
Wind blows the skin of leaves
Over the lane that goes to nowhere.
Memory leads me back to the faithless day

Gothic and tortured beneath the new moon,
My weary frame is thrown down and forgotten
No chance of ever being found.
Like a cure wasting away in a broken mug.

Desperation looks me in the eye,
Goading me to end the suffrage.
Telling me how my life is a lie.
Giving my devil the slightest nudge.

Ego and Id wrestle for position
Virtue and morality peek from shadows
While greed seeps into the cracks like poison.
Controlling the brain with strings of truth.

Truth leads me to believe
Each leaf that falls from the branch
Rests from worry as they weave
In the wind.

Patrick columned

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