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Best Poems Written by Patrick Whitaker

Below are the all-time best Patrick Whitaker poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Shallow Grave

Her pain at ease, her voice a breeze,
She’s gone but never far from you.
The shallow gravitation, she pulls you toward her rest.
Her hand outstretched, grasping to the sky,
Knelt by the grave, you release the pain bottled within,
The grief, the depression, the anger you feel,
One and all pour forth over the soul that is lost.
Her grasping hand with a hold on you,
Pulls you down within.
The grave occupied with the love you hold,
Keeps you always near to her.
From the grasping hand, release,
Escape her shallow grave.
With her name in your heart,
Turn around and strive --through life.
For she’s not in the grave,
She watches above.
And all that you do,
With love, 
she watches.

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Fading Memory

Up is down. Right is left. Dreary colors. Dull tastes.
What should be isn’t. What is—not enough.
Each day a fading memory seeming farther off,
Draws toward the present, a time not how it should be.
This feeling of life missing a part,
Bigger than a single thing,
Someone to help. Someone to guide. Someone to understand.
But life moves on,
Confusing, dull life though it is.
A flash of color happening. A right that leads me so.
But just a breath and nothing more,
So wandering down the path I go.
Another flash gives taste to food,
This gives me a day worth remembering.
But again, it’s gone, and back I go to missing part of me.
The flashes come but never stay, and I return unto my gloom.
Calling back to the times I had with taste and color and cheer.
A time where all of me was there.
My time I spent with you.
On I press, the time with you but a thought,
It calls me back. It pushes me on.
For you were not best for me.
But for now, I stumble
I wander
I make my way in the dark.
Always searching for you.
To find you
To reclaim
The part of me you stole.

Details | Patrick Whitaker Poem

Beautiful Tragedy

The passion felt within, not knowing what to do,
This thought forbidden occurs again.
My heart belongs to her,
This she knows is true.
But cannot act, upon this thought
She knows not what she feels.
Forever in this state of want and need,
Neither knows the other, neither knows them self.
A dance around another occupies their time,
One who feels that she is his,
And knows not that my heart is hers.
The dance unfolds, a beautiful tragedy,
One will love, one will resent, one will never be the same.
But in the end, one thing is certain:
My heart belongs to her.

Details | Patrick Whitaker Poem

Tick Tock Crawl

Tick Tock Crawl, time controls us all,
It grasps our chain.
It pulls.
The helpless lack—control,
Our time
But not ours –borrowed.
Break the chain! But wait,
None has that power within.
Instead a rope,
Return the time.
It controls not,
If none more is borrowed.
Slave to time no more,
Hear not the Tick Tock Crawl.
But slave to one more powerful, one with no escape.
The Tick Tock Crawl controls one and all.
None escape until that time,
When our loan is due.
Use the time, the loan nigh due.
Enjoy the time, before the chime.
Call.
Tick. Tock. Crawl.

Details | Patrick Whitaker Poem

Masquerade

Life a masquerade of happiness and cheer,
Nobody knows that pain is felt through every new day.
A façade created
Dreary thoughts covered
Nothing hurts more than being alone.
To lose this mask, one must find
A true happiness—a sun in the dark night.
The light continues to move
Always farther away, to a place out of reach.
Outstretched hands. Grasping for this light unobtainable.
Fingers searching. Shoulders straining. Mind yearning.
The light remains just out of reach,
No effort enough to grasp this way,
To burn the mask and become free.
The masquerade continues with no exit to take,
The façade remains with no way to escape.
Life goes on as a guest in a mask,
A smiling. A happy. A joking cover.
The pain remains. Hidden though it is.
The mask hides all from those around you,
Those in their grinning, happy costumes at this masquerade.
All continue on with smiles and cheer,
Unaware of the masks surrounding each and another.
All are searching
None are finding
The light in the dark to burn their masks
And break free to welcome pleasure and cheer.

Details | Patrick Whitaker Poem

The Escape

The light ahead, the dark behind,
Step by dragging step—strive.
To the end, the beaming light ahead,
From which no man can escape.
Within each, the power hides,
To escape the present and to strive,
Toward the light. Toward the end. Toward that which is unknown.
Although unknown, the end is there,
Brighter, beckoning end; an escape from the present.
Every man falters and needs a hand to help,
A light to guide, a reason to strive forward from the dark.
The dark is here, enclosing us all,
But turn your back and walk away.
For the dark is unable to follow,
It is fought by the light,
That toward which we strive,
And know: it is better than what we face.
At the light lives hope.
And love.
And a way to escape that which surrounds us all.