dacapoalpoetry

White Noise

Raindrops falling from the sky
Have become my lullaby.
For what else is there on Earth
That can make me feel submersed
In a storm of peace and joy?
I am calm and, now, devoid
Of the anger which once poured
On my mind—I was subdued
To a dark world which I bore
After years of no control
Over what I am and how
My own self I disavowed.

Raindrops falling from my eyes
And the words from my own mouth
Pour out from the world within
What it was and what it seems.

I touch figures—gloomy, grey,
There’s no night and there’s no day,
None are black and none are white:
They are grey and they unite
Dreams, reality—and pause;
Static, noise—and raindrops fall.

And the rain becomes white noise.

– Patricia

Skies of Hope

Rays of burning gold descend:
One more day comes to an end.
Warming amber paints the sky
And the clouds are beautified.

Magic trails are left behind,
Seemingly endless and white,
As the airplanes fade away;
A new border: night and day.

Forests turn to fiery black,
As the light turns into dark,
As the valleys—once alive—
Become still and renounce light.

Golden daylight disappears
Behind distant, empty hills;
Fireflies now take its place
And the veil of darkness face.

Rays of burning gold descend:
One more day comes to an end.
Warming amber paints the sky
As I hear the lullaby.

Sacred whispers touch my ears
And I stop in place to hear.
Soothing song surrounds my soul
And embraces me as whole.

– Patricia

Canvas in the Night

The night sky once again awaits
To be a canvas of the soul;
A world of dreams it will portray,
As all the stars I now control. ǀ Fine

I take a breath and paint the moon,
A regal vision—only her;
A smile now waltzes on my lips:
The queen will reign from dusk till dawn.

I take the paintbrush yet again
And paint a dance of falling stars;
They travel to the ends of Earth;
Although new-born, they travel far.

I paint a sea of gleaming gold
And watch the waves send warming light
Towards the world I hold so dear,
That’s never been so still and bright.

And, star by star, my universe
Turns into galaxies of dreams.
I paint and paint—the canvas full,
Awakening forgotten tears.

I paint until the morning sun
Sends rays of daylight from afar.
My painting fades, I close my eyes;
I will return and cover scars.

Da Capo al Fine

– Patricia

Return to Childhood

A mighty castle far away,
With hidden creatures made of clay,
That magic land of fairytales:
I want that kind of story.

With evil dragons spreading fear,
Princesses that have disappeared
And daring knights whom all hold dear:
That kind of great adventure.

With magic forests, fairy dust,
And evil witches you can’t trust,
Their piercing eyes and haunting laughs,
Who soon will be defeated.

With treasures, elves and leprechauns,
Enchanted flowers, short turmoil,
Triumphant heroes on and on
And challenges awaiting.

With good and evil, day and night,
Heroes and villains who would fight
And happy ending—my delight:
Just white and black and no grey.

Stories in which the good prevails,
With happiness that never fades,
With victories, glorious days,
With innocence and pure heart.

Stories with dreams that come to life,
With never-ending, sweet delight,
In which future and hope unite:
Return to happily ever after.

– Patricia

Guardian of Hope

From ancient whispers of the forest,
A tiny fairy comes to life.
A child of purity and magic,
A sign of innocent delight.

Behold! The guardian arises
And takes its place on rusty leaves,
Protecting all the living beings
From sharpened claws which warm breath seize.

Behold! The future of the forest—
Once under poisoned veils of dark—
Now has a gleaming light awaiting
On hopeful journeys to embark.

So, there is hope in dreadful moments!
So, there is magic here tonight!
The night of life has disappeared;
The morning sun sends warmth and light.

From ancient whispers of the forest,
A tiny fairy comes to life.
A mighty guardian arises
And ancient truths are beautified.

– Patricia

Intruder

The tiny seed had started growing
And, oh, was this such dauntless heart:
It day by day rose high, just knowing
What it would soon be: work of art.

Making a path of joy and wonder,
One day it pierced the mellow earth.
So pure—and yet—to some such cumber:
Wishing to have prevented birth.

Malicious whispers all around it,
Covetous glares governed the air,
As evil steps started to trample
The lightsome soul that life had borne.

Brought to the ground of ancient life forms,
It quivered as it drew its breath,
And countless thoughts and storm arose then,
And from the fog: the mask of death.

A day had lived the pure being,
A day with cruel, unyielding sky
And, as the sun of life descended,
The hint of life: now petrified…

– Patricia

Among Strangers

Frozen in place, too scared to move,
As blurry faces pass me by,
I fear the crowd and what they’ll do
If I would dare to feel alive.

I feel alone and incomplete
While waiting for a chance to live.
Tempting sensation in my feet
Gives me the strength to still believe.

A step out of the comfort zone
And I am free to be myself;
I venture in the great unknown,
Finding myself with every breath.

I am alone and yet I feel
That who I am is now enough;
I have myself, nothing to fear,
Still working on the final draft.

The smiling faces are now clear,
As I complete my work of art.
Now all my colours have appeared:
The world I paint with breathing heart.

– Patricia

The Train Station

The passengers all come and go,
The trains as well, that I do know.
Some make it to their goal on time
And others don’t at all, sometimes.

Some stand there still and petrified,
As years pass till they decide
What destination they will try
To get to – never asking why.

Some get on board at the last time,
Some come here early, at nighttime,
And some don’t want to leave the train,
As pleasant memories fade away.

Some journeys end before the stop—
Chaotic speed, fear and teardrops—
While some arrive on time, as planned,
With joyful hearts in their homeland.

The people come, the people go,
And all the trains that are do so,
Only the station stays in place,
Always the same—birth and death race.

– Patricia

Highlight Reel

Stormy skies await ahead,
Messengers of future doom.
I see trees which seem to bloom,
But they’re phantoms of the dead.

I can turn and walk away,
Leaving all of it behind,
Running, hiding: no delay,
But I don’t, with fearless mind.

Entering the vengeful lands,
Boiling droplets pierce my skin,
Yet I take the bravest steps
In the storm of truth and dream.

Battling howling, hateful winds,
Thunders booming from above,
Now the storm so endless feels,
Sending fiery, tainted doves.

Rage and fire I then meet,
Then a blizzard cold as ice;
All this fury I endure,
Knowing that it soon will pass.

Step by step, I see a sky
Of a hopeful, loving spring
And the grey I leave behind,
As my being is redeemed.

Many storms await ahead,
But I’m stronger breath by breath;
I’m alive, I’m not yet dead,
I’ll prevail until the end.

Dreams and truth I will unite,
Making life of what I feel;
I’m the master of my mind;
This is it: my highlight reel.

– Patricia

Dandelion Field

Dandelions paint the field,
All a sweet, translucent white.
Now they are a graceful shield,
Dreams protecting from decay.
Entering a sacred world,
Little like them I become,
In the wind my breath I hold,
On a fluff flying away,
Now with flowers I am one.

Freedom comes to me at last,
In my flight on gentle white,
Ending fears of future, past,
Liberty knowing up there,
Dandelions fly away.

– Patricia