We were so near the front lines that the only thing we could do was crawl on our bellies, hoping the snipers wouldn’t get a bead on us. The guns were eerily silent, as if they knew we were there and were looking, just looking. I could feel all the eyes and I didn’t like that feeling one little bit.
What honestly makes people obey
those stiff men in uniform?
Is it the fear of punishment
Or is it the promise of reward and a better life
if they shut their mouths and do what they are told.
maybe one day they will be on patrol
in control
Pacing the streets. Both eyes out for danger. Sturdy men in uniforms. Making me feel confident as I walk dark city streets alone. Marching in darkness, a duty to perform.
Patrolling around the other guards I cant help but feel completely enraged in their presence. My heart is engulfed with flames that continuously burn with every sound of gunfire.
My love is love like no one else
I control what I see, what I do, what I hear and feel and pretend to become.
We are not watched by the stars but by the galaxies that laugh at our faces.
We are all controlled by our thoughts in our head, not the things we see and do.
We are controlled by us.
Oh god, the police patrols were the scariest. They’d always zoom past my urban house, their horns and whistles and doo-dad’s blindingly echoing throughout the streets. I’d sit and shiver and wonder whne they’d be over. Please god, let them be over. Their screams haunt me. Please.
Just as vicious dogs trained to patrol and guard a junkyard can be led away only by one whom they trust implicitly, so also, we were disarmed and led away from our pride, our worthless treasure, by Your soft, firm voice and smile that ignited our soul.
“Evening patrol?” Yulena stared at her superior officer. She blinked twice, for good measure and then repeated herself–again. “Patrol. This evening. Me?”
Officer Evans stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, if you would be so kind?” He drawled. He slid the electronic tablet across the counter and waited for her to sign in and count it as a job well done for the day.
The brunette eyed the device for a good five minutes before reluctant fingers poked at the touchscreen to enter her numerical ID for clearing. A moment later, she took the proffered ticket from Evans.
“Good luck. Happy hunting.” He fired off a lazy salute and then turned to switch off his systems to log out before the next shift.
Yulena sighed to herself. She waited until he circled around the section, the screens turned off, the lights dimmed and then he latched the little chain sectioning off his checkpoint.
For a moment, they stared at each other–again.
Then he walked forward, arms extended.
She gathered him into his arms, a kiss to the side of his cheek. “Happy birthday, son.” She hugged him tight. “I’m sorry I’ll miss the cake and dinner.”
His sad smile held forgiveness in its curve. “That’s okay. You were there for breakfast this morning.” He kissed her cheek. “Thanks for transferring here today.”
I’m on patrol. Walking around this fence. They haven’t told me exactly what I am looking for, only to keep looking. I don’t understand how we got to this point. A small village. Fenced in. All boys age 14 and older, walking around with guns. What for? Why? Nobody will answer these questions. Maybe nobody knows. I know better than to keep asking.
The patrol was killing my back. Why we had to walk around patrolling these people was beyond me. It’s not like they were going anywhere. They were starving! They could barely move in there condition.
We are on patrol !!! Patrolling for what you ask?? Well, I’ve been asking myself the same question for years. I think we have to watch for snakes….you know the little garter snakes that scare the bejeebers out of you when they appear suddenly, and then of course there is the spiders….especially the ones with the little red dots on the tummy…..oh yes..we really do have to be on patrol!!! NOT!!!!
click clack click clack
the in step feet of the group..
it makes a bitter noise
click clack click clack
oh how i cant stand it!
its suffocating as they walk around; like sheep
click clack click clack
They think they are untitled
that they are above it all
click clack click clack
Telling me what I’m doing wrong
how i should do things more like them
click clack click clack
just because they walk together
just because they are the SAME
click clack click clack
oh how i loath them
the neighborhood ‘patrol’
click clack click clack
they are just afraid
afraid of what i might become
click clack click clack
something new, something bold, something that will change everything!
change them!
click clack click clack
so they keep watch, waiting
waiting to squash any difference
click clack click clack
but they wont succeed
they are to closed minded
click click click like
all they can see is themselves, their own problems
and all they can hear are their feet
click clack click clack
I watched the cop go by. he was on his Patrol. Of course he would come to this area of town. I screamed from the van. It was so loud. It rung in my ears. The cop car came to a halt. He scanned his surroundings and saw the sketchy van i’m locked in.
The city watch roamed across the streets as dusk set in. There was no way out…Pip knew this, yet he still stared from his dank dark box, hoping for just one glancing second to get out of the city.
cars walk by the crazy man in the yellow coat who can’t seem to find his keys. Mysterious eyes look on as he scrambles to discover the meaning of her last words. Why didn’t he open the door, maybe she’d be here right now if he had. Where’s the open window when you need it? He looks out at a loss.
I walked about the building. The eerie silence pressed in on me, weighing a thousand pounds at least. Nothing frightened me more than this museum in the dead of night, and I had no clue why I’d chosen this job. No, that’s not true. I chose it because it was the only one available. And, of course, because of my secret obsession. The paintings at night were more beautiful than in the day, crowded by a thousand ridiculous tourists coming in and out, overlit by the harsh lights. In the night, alone, quiet, I appreciated the artwork. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, part of the job description, but it was the only part of the job I relished.
the rhythmic sound of boots echo in his head. his heart races sweat drips down his forehead and his muscles ache from crouching in the same position for hours. he watches the shadows pace back and forth, his nightmares his sins his faults all are on patrol tonight. he stops breathing.
I knew it was a bad idea to go with him. But I love him so much i figured he only wanted what was best for me, I was wrong. He told me all I had to do was keep patrol while he went in and talked to his “friend”. Little did I know he would leave my side forever that night.
The sun patrols the earth. Each day. Every night. Round and round. Lighting the sky. Lighting our faces. Patrolling our dark corners. Pouring light into dark alley ways. Into dark hearts. Patrolling the farms. Growing our food. The sun sees everything. Touches everything. Hears everything. Because the sun patrols the earth.
police officers on the prowl at dark at midnight thinking of their wives and children eating donuts and listening to queen and their partner’s pathetic life at the bars. They see something in the distance, not quite right. It’s getting closer, more decipherable. What is it? It’s head and eyes are coming in to view and then
It was late at night when an officer on patrol caught me in the act. The act of murder. I wasn’t thinking when it happened, just that I had to do it. If I didn’t kill her who knows what she might have given away about me to the cops. My knife was leaving her body when the flashlight lit up my face.
I kept an eye on the nigh patrol. I have a good angle from this vantage point. The radio at my side crackled softly. Just waiting for that one word, and it was show time. The guards rounded the corner and disappeared into the shadows. Perfect. This couldn’t be going any more smoothly. Luck is surely shining on us tonight.
3 men.
The first feverishly hacking at the vines and undergrowth with his machete, trying to find a path through the thick, leech infested hell.
The last could almost be walking blind, all of his concentration is focused on listening. listening behind him for the crack of a twig or rustle of leaves; he is wearing a hideous mask. not on his face, but the back of his skull, hopefully the leering face will stall an attack or make a quiet observer think they are also being observed.
And me.
I am the middle man. I hold the rifle.
Today, I am part of the patrol.
I am a patrol officer. To be fully honest, I don’t know exactly what that means. My cousin scored me the job while I was in need of money-badly. All I really do is stand around all day and kind of just look at my surroundings, take it all in. I want to know everything about everything, and I guess I’m just trying to properly read everything.
I was on patrol, they said. I simply had to sit out in the hallway and pick out every single ‘hoodrat’ that littered on there ground… The thing is, I could care less who littered in the halls. It’s the janitor’s job to clean it up, let them do it…
When people look at me. Dangerous thoughts patrol my mind. I become very self conscious because i’m so weird, and wonder if I really am that much of an outkast.
isnt this where people patrol a place that needs to be secure? like in the movies where the guards patrol the hall ways of the prison guards are on patrol. i like how the word trol is within this word and the name pat. its a 6
damn i am in trouble being watched police cars chasing me lights everywhere red white and blue i was speeding don’t want to get caught ticket my parents will kill me i am scared i hate this i cant afford this insurance is already too high from the accident
patrolling my house for no reason like im guarding something or maybe it just helps me to think about things and imagine other things its just soothing. i get up suddenly every once in a while and come back after going to the end of the house.
police being watched scared nervous cant do anything wrong getting in trouble watch out jail cars being chased speeding white red blue lights everywhere never stopping damn i am in trouble
Patrolling the area was beginning to seem monotonous. Her mind was circling as much as her feet in the boots issued to her by the head security guard. Was this really worth it?
Ha, this is real funny. My dad still believes that I am a child and feels the need to put restrictions on me. For example, putting me under house arrest and watching me like patrol officer. I know he’s doing this to protect me, but i need to make my own mistakes to get something out of it.
Sweat trickled down the back of her neck as she waded, hoping she still was obscured by the tall swamp grasses. As quietly as she could, she swatted a mosquito away and prayed to whichever deity above that would listen that the strange thing sliding around her ankle wasn’t a water moccasin… or worse, a leech. She shuddered . She was old enough by now to know that everybody in the camp had to do a special task, despite their age. But of course, she couldn’t be responsible for cooking or medicine or any task that was moderately enjoyable. She had to be stuck with patrols, the least favorite and most dangerous of them all.
The annoy me to no end. to the point where i will like to show the how much of a hell that they give me. but i dont blame the the were givin control and it is only apart of our kinds nature to abuse it. mabey if we were in a world were every one mind there own damn buisness and had a speciel area to them selve there wouldn’t be a a need for rules control over territory and such trival crap. you see i happen to be the type of person who has the tendence to think of simple soultions for rediculous things. i no problem are almost never that easy to solve so not surprised. just gets me going. in my endless spiral of trail of thoughts. when i think of partols a also think about how it is tecnicle the muse a lot of art, music, dance. they just find the need, the desperate erge to rebel against all sources of athority. that is probly just me since i am at the age where child wish to break from any form of restains. I understand that there where they are coming from but the minute they walk away i instantly think to just fuck it ido what i want bitch. not at all how i usually am. what ever age probly does that to your head or sonething. another form of patrols that we have so many chances to rebel against but dont. even as every day i obsurvis this and do so ever blue moon if it bothers me enough. we dont always brake away from the control of our own minds. it confuses me how are you supose to maKe any forms of changes for anything if you cant start with your own head. like ill try a million times a day that ill break from my old habits but always fall down. to the point where i antisipate for the moment i crumble.
We were so near the front lines that the only thing we could do was crawl on our bellies, hoping the snipers wouldn’t get a bead on us. The guns were eerily silent, as if they knew we were there and were looking, just looking. I could feel all the eyes and I didn’t like that feeling one little bit.
What honestly makes people obey
those stiff men in uniform?
Is it the fear of punishment
Or is it the promise of reward and a better life
if they shut their mouths and do what they are told.
maybe one day they will be on patrol
in control
Pacing the streets. Both eyes out for danger. Sturdy men in uniforms. Making me feel confident as I walk dark city streets alone. Marching in darkness, a duty to perform.
Patrolling around the other guards I cant help but feel completely enraged in their presence. My heart is engulfed with flames that continuously burn with every sound of gunfire.
My love is love like no one else
I control what I see, what I do, what I hear and feel and pretend to become.
We are not watched by the stars but by the galaxies that laugh at our faces.
We are all controlled by our thoughts in our head, not the things we see and do.
We are controlled by us.
Oh god, the police patrols were the scariest. They’d always zoom past my urban house, their horns and whistles and doo-dad’s blindingly echoing throughout the streets. I’d sit and shiver and wonder whne they’d be over. Please god, let them be over. Their screams haunt me. Please.
Just as vicious dogs trained to patrol and guard a junkyard can be led away only by one whom they trust implicitly, so also, we were disarmed and led away from our pride, our worthless treasure, by Your soft, firm voice and smile that ignited our soul.
Run and hide
the patrol is arriving
Leave your stuff
don’t look back
The patrol wants to take you down
“Evening patrol?” Yulena stared at her superior officer. She blinked twice, for good measure and then repeated herself–again. “Patrol. This evening. Me?”
Officer Evans stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, if you would be so kind?” He drawled. He slid the electronic tablet across the counter and waited for her to sign in and count it as a job well done for the day.
The brunette eyed the device for a good five minutes before reluctant fingers poked at the touchscreen to enter her numerical ID for clearing. A moment later, she took the proffered ticket from Evans.
“Good luck. Happy hunting.” He fired off a lazy salute and then turned to switch off his systems to log out before the next shift.
Yulena sighed to herself. She waited until he circled around the section, the screens turned off, the lights dimmed and then he latched the little chain sectioning off his checkpoint.
For a moment, they stared at each other–again.
Then he walked forward, arms extended.
She gathered him into his arms, a kiss to the side of his cheek. “Happy birthday, son.” She hugged him tight. “I’m sorry I’ll miss the cake and dinner.”
His sad smile held forgiveness in its curve. “That’s okay. You were there for breakfast this morning.” He kissed her cheek. “Thanks for transferring here today.”
“Anytime.”
I’m on patrol. Walking around this fence. They haven’t told me exactly what I am looking for, only to keep looking. I don’t understand how we got to this point. A small village. Fenced in. All boys age 14 and older, walking around with guns. What for? Why? Nobody will answer these questions. Maybe nobody knows. I know better than to keep asking.
problems coming, need to protect something strange, something not usually expected, but at the same time, a feeling of safety.
The policeman patrolled the area, but found no trace of the hidden, diaphanous handkerchief belonging to his recently deceased husband.
The patrol was killing my back. Why we had to walk around patrolling these people was beyond me. It’s not like they were going anywhere. They were starving! They could barely move in there condition.
We are on patrol !!! Patrolling for what you ask?? Well, I’ve been asking myself the same question for years. I think we have to watch for snakes….you know the little garter snakes that scare the bejeebers out of you when they appear suddenly, and then of course there is the spiders….especially the ones with the little red dots on the tummy…..oh yes..we really do have to be on patrol!!! NOT!!!!
click clack click clack
the in step feet of the group..
it makes a bitter noise
click clack click clack
oh how i cant stand it!
its suffocating as they walk around; like sheep
click clack click clack
They think they are untitled
that they are above it all
click clack click clack
Telling me what I’m doing wrong
how i should do things more like them
click clack click clack
just because they walk together
just because they are the SAME
click clack click clack
oh how i loath them
the neighborhood ‘patrol’
click clack click clack
they are just afraid
afraid of what i might become
click clack click clack
something new, something bold, something that will change everything!
change them!
click clack click clack
so they keep watch, waiting
waiting to squash any difference
click clack click clack
but they wont succeed
they are to closed minded
click click click like
all they can see is themselves, their own problems
and all they can hear are their feet
click clack click clack
patrol is to be aware of things around. it is good to be safe and alert form dangers
I watched the cop go by. he was on his Patrol. Of course he would come to this area of town. I screamed from the van. It was so loud. It rung in my ears. The cop car came to a halt. He scanned his surroundings and saw the sketchy van i’m locked in.
The city watch roamed across the streets as dusk set in. There was no way out…Pip knew this, yet he still stared from his dank dark box, hoping for just one glancing second to get out of the city.
cars walk by the crazy man in the yellow coat who can’t seem to find his keys. Mysterious eyes look on as he scrambles to discover the meaning of her last words. Why didn’t he open the door, maybe she’d be here right now if he had. Where’s the open window when you need it? He looks out at a loss.
I walked about the building. The eerie silence pressed in on me, weighing a thousand pounds at least. Nothing frightened me more than this museum in the dead of night, and I had no clue why I’d chosen this job. No, that’s not true. I chose it because it was the only one available. And, of course, because of my secret obsession. The paintings at night were more beautiful than in the day, crowded by a thousand ridiculous tourists coming in and out, overlit by the harsh lights. In the night, alone, quiet, I appreciated the artwork. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, part of the job description, but it was the only part of the job I relished.
the rhythmic sound of boots echo in his head. his heart races sweat drips down his forehead and his muscles ache from crouching in the same position for hours. he watches the shadows pace back and forth, his nightmares his sins his faults all are on patrol tonight. he stops breathing.
I knew it was a bad idea to go with him. But I love him so much i figured he only wanted what was best for me, I was wrong. He told me all I had to do was keep patrol while he went in and talked to his “friend”. Little did I know he would leave my side forever that night.
The sun patrols the earth. Each day. Every night. Round and round. Lighting the sky. Lighting our faces. Patrolling our dark corners. Pouring light into dark alley ways. Into dark hearts. Patrolling the farms. Growing our food. The sun sees everything. Touches everything. Hears everything. Because the sun patrols the earth.
police officers on the prowl at dark at midnight thinking of their wives and children eating donuts and listening to queen and their partner’s pathetic life at the bars. They see something in the distance, not quite right. It’s getting closer, more decipherable. What is it? It’s head and eyes are coming in to view and then
It was late at night when an officer on patrol caught me in the act. The act of murder. I wasn’t thinking when it happened, just that I had to do it. If I didn’t kill her who knows what she might have given away about me to the cops. My knife was leaving her body when the flashlight lit up my face.
I kept an eye on the nigh patrol. I have a good angle from this vantage point. The radio at my side crackled softly. Just waiting for that one word, and it was show time. The guards rounded the corner and disappeared into the shadows. Perfect. This couldn’t be going any more smoothly. Luck is surely shining on us tonight.
3 men.
The first feverishly hacking at the vines and undergrowth with his machete, trying to find a path through the thick, leech infested hell.
The last could almost be walking blind, all of his concentration is focused on listening. listening behind him for the crack of a twig or rustle of leaves; he is wearing a hideous mask. not on his face, but the back of his skull, hopefully the leering face will stall an attack or make a quiet observer think they are also being observed.
And me.
I am the middle man. I hold the rifle.
Today, I am part of the patrol.
I am a patrol officer. To be fully honest, I don’t know exactly what that means. My cousin scored me the job while I was in need of money-badly. All I really do is stand around all day and kind of just look at my surroundings, take it all in. I want to know everything about everything, and I guess I’m just trying to properly read everything.
I was on patrol, they said. I simply had to sit out in the hallway and pick out every single ‘hoodrat’ that littered on there ground… The thing is, I could care less who littered in the halls. It’s the janitor’s job to clean it up, let them do it…
Every time I drive by your house I feel like an agent on patrol.
The weary skiff bounced around the cape as waves crashed the rocks and
When people look at me. Dangerous thoughts patrol my mind. I become very self conscious because i’m so weird, and wonder if I really am that much of an outkast.
isnt this where people patrol a place that needs to be secure? like in the movies where the guards patrol the hall ways of the prison guards are on patrol. i like how the word trol is within this word and the name pat. its a 6
damn i am in trouble being watched police cars chasing me lights everywhere red white and blue i was speeding don’t want to get caught ticket my parents will kill me i am scared i hate this i cant afford this insurance is already too high from the accident
patrolling my house for no reason like im guarding something or maybe it just helps me to think about things and imagine other things its just soothing. i get up suddenly every once in a while and come back after going to the end of the house.
police being watched scared nervous cant do anything wrong getting in trouble watch out jail cars being chased speeding white red blue lights everywhere never stopping damn i am in trouble
Patrolling the area was beginning to seem monotonous. Her mind was circling as much as her feet in the boots issued to her by the head security guard. Was this really worth it?
Ha, this is real funny. My dad still believes that I am a child and feels the need to put restrictions on me. For example, putting me under house arrest and watching me like patrol officer. I know he’s doing this to protect me, but i need to make my own mistakes to get something out of it.
Sweat trickled down the back of her neck as she waded, hoping she still was obscured by the tall swamp grasses. As quietly as she could, she swatted a mosquito away and prayed to whichever deity above that would listen that the strange thing sliding around her ankle wasn’t a water moccasin… or worse, a leech. She shuddered . She was old enough by now to know that everybody in the camp had to do a special task, despite their age. But of course, she couldn’t be responsible for cooking or medicine or any task that was moderately enjoyable. She had to be stuck with patrols, the least favorite and most dangerous of them all.
The annoy me to no end. to the point where i will like to show the how much of a hell that they give me. but i dont blame the the were givin control and it is only apart of our kinds nature to abuse it. mabey if we were in a world were every one mind there own damn buisness and had a speciel area to them selve there wouldn’t be a a need for rules control over territory and such trival crap. you see i happen to be the type of person who has the tendence to think of simple soultions for rediculous things. i no problem are almost never that easy to solve so not surprised. just gets me going. in my endless spiral of trail of thoughts. when i think of partols a also think about how it is tecnicle the muse a lot of art, music, dance. they just find the need, the desperate erge to rebel against all sources of athority. that is probly just me since i am at the age where child wish to break from any form of restains. I understand that there where they are coming from but the minute they walk away i instantly think to just fuck it ido what i want bitch. not at all how i usually am. what ever age probly does that to your head or sonething. another form of patrols that we have so many chances to rebel against but dont. even as every day i obsurvis this and do so ever blue moon if it bothers me enough. we dont always brake away from the control of our own minds. it confuses me how are you supose to maKe any forms of changes for anything if you cant start with your own head. like ill try a million times a day that ill break from my old habits but always fall down. to the point where i antisipate for the moment i crumble.