Author: dacapoalpoetry

My journey to finding myself began with music, continued with poetry and keeps going with these two blending harmoniously.

The Stranger—Not of This World

He watched the golden sunset, the light in all its might.
Oh, he wanted to touch it, for it brought him delight.
It gave him hope; he smiled, rejoicing in its warmth,
And he could find the power to face the world alone.

He breathed in the silence and melodies were born
Inside his strengthened spirit, each of them taking turns
At bringing out the colours which rested deep within,
Allowing him to smile—so peaceful, so serene!

He watched as amber spears descended towards the sea,
The seagulls—melancholic, the waves—unapologetically free.
Only the golden traces which now painted the sky
Were proof of what had happened—of worlds which unify.

He closed his eyes and waited—the sound of crashing waves—
The touch of reigning moonlight caressed his peaceful face.
He smiled as he felt it—the sunlight was enough;
Walking away from freedom, he ventured in the night.

– Patricia

Chasing the Sun

We chased the autumn sun we knew,
Wishing that we could start anew.
But nightfall came, gone was the light;
Hard as we’d tried, we’d lost the fight.

We wanted warmth, unending love,
Yet there we were; the pure dove
Had turned into a raven—dark,
With claws we could not disregard.

It was the sunset of our bliss,
Not just a passing, short eclipse.
Our youth—no more, our strength—long gone,
Only the wind would hear our cries.

We’d had it all—or so it seemed;
The strength, the beauty, youth—all myths.
Our souls were all that we still had,
But soon enough: absorbed by dark.

We chased our final ray of hope,
As it was all we’d ever sought.
We thought we’d grasp just one more day,
Yet there we were: no more than clay.

We stopped in place and looked around,
Thus, understanding we were bound
To reach this day: our end had come.
In pilgrim winds, we came undone…

– Patricia

1 am

It hurts to be rejected when you want to fit in.
You long for their approval—you’ve never had it. Scream.
You’ve always been the outcast: exceptional. No, lost.
You chase after acceptance, yet not know who you are.

You search to please all others, yet never liked yourself.
You touch the greatest happiness when they give you a “yes.”
Approval and acceptance—that’s all you ever seek.
You’ve never had it in you to stand alone. So weak…

You trip over the smallest and tiniest of noes,
You’re back on cloud nine—quickly—when corners upward go.
You know it’s wrong. You want it. You sail with every wind.
Why won’t you simply stop it?! No backbone—so it seems…

And so, you cut your edges, you stretch your empty soul.
You cut your heart in pieces, adore the windy hole.
Yes, now they will accept you—you’ve never been more wrong.
Deformed, broken: you love it. The Pleaser, lo and behold…

– Note to self

Freedom at Sea

WhatsApp Image 2019-02-28 at 21.11.13

I’ve had the dream a thousand times,
It goes like this: I’m near the sea,
I’m on the sand, open my eyes
And hear the waves just calling me. ǀ Fine

A transformation then occurs:
Metamorphosis of the soul.
The sea defines and also blurs
The lines of who I am and was.

My heart beats faster, breaks the cage,
Growing and thus setting me free.
It’s here, it’s now, no more delays,
No tightened strings controlling me.

So, I forget the life I had,
There’s no one else to hold me back.
Just what I love awaits ahead,
Beauty and nature, day and night.

I start my dance on waves of blue,
Their lacey white giving me hope.
I’m free at last, I’ve found my truth
Among the sea foam and the salt.

I’m one with water, with the sky,
I venture in their kingdom’s heart,
As seagulls give out welcoming cries;
I feel at home in this work of art.

I fly, I soar, I dance, I waltz,
So happy, free! Ecstatic, free!
I’m there until the crack of dawn,
Until nightfall—felicity.

I wish the dream went on and on,
But I wake up as moonlight bathes
My soul—and I return to my own world,
The sea—so far, the night—so late.

And I resume my passing life,
But I go back when moonlight calls,
When crashing waves await my touch,
When secret worlds once more unfold.

Da Capo al Fine

– Patricia

Far from the Madding Crowd

In the middle of the sea, I feel peace and freedom.
I am where I’m meant to be, in the water’s kingdom.
Passing waves encircle me and I touch their beauty.
Sea foam, seagulls, salt and me—all I want, forever.

In the middle of the field, I feel joy and wonder,
As I touch the golden corn, as I hear the thunder.
I rejoice in summer rains and I hear the crickets.
Sunflowers and sunlight now whisper sacred secrets.

In the middle of the trees, deep within the forest,
Listening to dancing winds, I am truly restless.
Feet in cold, refreshing springs; bathing in the quiet,
I lie back on soft green moss—berries: black and scarlet.

In the middle of the snow, veils of white surround me,
Snowflakes touch my rosy cheeks, passion thus igniting.
I am where I’m meant to be: wilderness and nature.
I am who I’m meant to be. Artist and creation.

– Patricia

Milestones

In the middle of the forest lies a still and peaceful lake,
Summer, winter—all the seasons—left it sleeping or wide awake.
But in summer, when the beings would rejoice in warmth and sun,
There was magic on its surface; such a story—there is none.

Water lilies showed their beauty—oh, such splendour, such delight!
And the sunlight kissed them—tender, rejoicing in their pure sight.
Such a lively stunning painting was the lake in all its might
And yet—better, for it existed—a breathtaking work of art.

On the lake of such rare beauty lived a tiny, tiny frog,
Making music of its own kind—breaking silence day and night.
It explored the water’s surface which seemed endless for its size.
Every day, it ventured out there, as soon as the sun would rise.

Hopping on the water lilies, it grew tired rather fast,
For they had humongous, green leaves which seemed endless in its eyes.
And yet every day it ventured to explore their kingdom, for
Deep within, it was a being of courage—down to its core.

Every day, there came a challenge like no other it had seen,
Leaping higher, farther, faster, it explored the sea of green.
Every day, it reached new borders—every day, a milestone,
Such was the determination of the bold and tiny frog.

And with every leap of wonder came a cry of victory,
Every now and then, the music would come flowing joyously.
And the tiny frog’s adventure was a journey of the soul,
For it came to know the mysteries of the lake and of its own.

A journey of self-reflection, that of self-discovery.
Every leap would bring it closer to what it was meant to be.
In the middle of the forest, on the surface of a lake
Jumped a mighty and brave being whose spirit was wide awake.

– Patricia

Simplicity. Meaningful.

Erasing the Person—Volition

I rise from the paper that’s home to my figure,
And a new dimension I meet—liberated.
I step away from the drawing to see myself clearer,
I look at myself as I am—eviscerated. ǀ Fine

And I see my world as it is—unaffected
By blindness, by having only those two dimensions.
I now know how to judge my then confusing situation,
And I see all the flaws in my character and decisions.

I thus grab the pencil and accentuate my pale features,
Correct all the flaws in my character—wanting
Improvement and patience, as now I am eager
To better the person I see on the paper.

And by drawing new lines, and by drawing new colour,
By erasing the ones which would hurt those I treasure,
I give form to the person, give life to the figure
That only existed to cry or to smile.

For now, I’ve corrected the person, evolving,
For now, I’ve erased all that mattered in that moment.
I lay back on the paper, resume my existence,
Returning again when that solitude’s needed.

Da Capo al Fine

– Patricia

Erasing the Person

He lay in a puddle of petrified tears,
A look of sheer terror was spread on his face.
He had seen the nightmare, indeed, his worst fears,
He’d looked in the mirror—thus frozen in place.

His mind wandered back to those happier times,
When he was a child with the brightest of minds,
But veils of the present began to appear
And blurry his vision—the memories died.
 
The mirror had shown him a future of void,
A world with no guidance, no presence of mind.
His dreams and the memories would soon all be gone,
Forgetting himself, leaving sanity behind.
 
He’ll only see figures, but none known to him,
The ones he once loved would be shadows—unknown.
They all would be one and the same in his world,
All colours would fade to the beige of the mould.
 
He tried to hold on to his thoughts full of light,
But darkness appeared and began its embrace.
He wanted to fight it, but with weakened soul,
His own features now had become a blurry face.
 
He lay in a puddle of petrified tears,
With a distant gaze in his now blinded eyes;
The veil of oblivion had covered his mind,
He had met with the sickness which brought his soul’s demise.

– Patricia

Echoes in the Rain

In the rain which pours in silence lies a shadow so unnerving;
Nothing moves the broken body, who believes is undeserving.
All it hears is breathless anger pouring acid on the pavement,
Only rain eases his being—cold is what he thus now favours.

He’s a silhouette of fear, burdened by regret and anger.
Shadows of unwanted mercy on his fragile body linger.
He rejects their touch of fire, wanting loneliness forever,
Disregarding their intentions to bring warmth against his tremor.

He lies still and listens closely to the echoes of the raindrops,
Their cadence calming his spirit, feeling so exhilarating.
He lies there, embracing darkness and the quiet which then follows,
Welcoming the flood of tears—anything but short or shallow.

In the rain which pours its echoes lies a shadow so unnerving;
Nothing moves the silent body, who awaits its timely healing.
All it hears are rhythmic echoes falling from a veil of dimness.
He lies there awaiting sunrise and a sky of glowing crimson.

– Patricia