Some days are sad
In remembering the past
The heartache and anguish
Seems to last and last.
You know years have passed
You know all have moved on
Yet still some days are hard
The sadness seems to go
On and on.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2018
Hearing all is not the same
As hearing nothing
No one to blame.
Take the course, take the way
In your head you hear
Everyday.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2018
Do I have something to say
Will anyone listen
Have I gone to the past
That now lasts and ever lasts?
What will I do if the words
I spoke prove to be untrue
Will I cry
Will I speak of why?
Don’t know the answers
To those questions
Illuminating my mind.
Only know
I speak the words
That fill my questioning mind.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2018
I heard the wild goose call
I heard her plaintive tone.
I bowed my head in honour
Of all those left
Left alone.
On the field of war and anger
In the battle
No one wins alone.
I heard the wild goose call
Come
Come bring your brave soldiers home.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2018
Snow has fallen
Blanket soft and white
Caressing slumber
In a quiet night.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2014
Trouble is I haven’t seen the light
Radiating thru the darkness
Thru the night.
No one
Calls my name
No one holds my hand.
Alone in the quandary
Where oh where
Do I stand.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2018
Do I tell the stories
I know
Or do I let them go.
My heart doesn’t know
The way
The way I should go.
My spirit tells me
Feel the earth
Breathe the skies.
And the beings that live
Purely
Will guide you, they’ll never lie.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2018
Sought to seek the answer the spirits speak
Never once thinking to look inside
To see the answer that I need
The answer, which is here inside of me.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson -2018
Let me write
Something smart and clever
Telling the world
Secrets they didn’t know.
Pour my thoughts out
Convey all the things
I understand
And now know.
Hope they show
Compassion, loving kindness
And a knowledge given me
That til then I didn’t know.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2018
Golden leaves swaying
On a November breeze
Floating, cascading down
Landing on soon to be
Frozen, winter ground.
Woods are silent, hushed, listening
To the still quiet as a hunter lurks
Waiting to kill in the midst
Of golden leaves falling, raining down
Upon barren, dying ground.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2014
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Based on work at patriceclarkson.wordpress.com.
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