Up There

I step out in the winter cold,
As sunset skies above unfold.
I freeze in place, just mesmerized,
While dreams and truth are unified.

I wish to touch the silver lines,
To kiss the clouds a thousand times,
Their peachy pink, their passing grey,
To rise above and fly away.

I’ve dreamt of worlds where I am free,
Where wishes find reality,
Where I can fly all by myself,
Forgetting people, time or death.

A sky like this, a different world,
Timeless and never knowing mold,
Where I can be and simply love
An endless sky, forever born.

And I stand still, a silhouette
Of thoughts and dreams and no regrets.
My mind is free, I touch the sky,
Horizon, light all unify.

My frozen feet still touch the ground,
But I’m up there, among the clouds;
A dreamy state, my paradise,
Surreal bliss in gleaming eyes.

– Patricia

The Bravest I Have Been

I don’t avert my gaze this time,
I face the flaws, far from divine,
I want to see the truth, although,
Oh, I’m so scared to face it all.

I brace myself and face the light,
Hesitant steps, courage unite;
I’m terrified, my heart beats fast,
I feel it in my chest: aghast.

And simply then, when I’m most scared,
I am the bravest and I dare.
I lift my gaze and I look up
Into the eyes that stare right back.

I see myself with all my flaws,
Who I am now and who I was,
Reflection of a living soul,
With all the scars which make me whole.

I hated them, I was afraid,
Hated myself and felt ashamed,
Wanting to hide: even my sparks,
As imperfections seemed so vast.

Wanted perfection—but I’m not,
I’ll now accept what I have got,
The real me with ugly scars,
But with an endless repertoire.

I tell my story to myself,
I sing it, I am now prepared.
I tell my truth and who I am.
I see it now: imperfect gem.

– Patricia

Inspired by the way I’ve been feeling recently, as I’ve been focusing only on my physical imperfections and I felt ashamed, thinking “How could anyone see anything beautiful in me?”. I felt inferior and not good enough, after seeking perfection. And this limits the way I express myself and I can’t do it freely, without caring about what others think of me.

And I’ve been trying to remember how brave I’d learnt to be, facing my fears head on, something which I seem to have forgotten, in time. I wrote this poem with that thought in mind, imagining myself being the most afraid I’ve ever been and yet also being the bravest I have ever been and facing my fear.

In that moment, when I’m most scared, I’m the bravest I have ever been.

Painting Hall

I walk inside the painting hall:
It’s time to see the past again. ǀ Fine
Time to remember, to recall
Who I was then, in ink and pen.

I look at paintings of the past,
Ancient, but still a trace of truth.
I know what paintbrush I can trust,
Myself in memories I lose.

I then walk to the mirror hall,
To see the present, yet again.
Who I am now I will recall,
An image of evolving when.

I look at mirrors of the now,
Reflections of a passing me,
Remembering to notice how
This all will soon be memory.

Each image from the mirror hall
Tomorrow will be found again,
As painting it will take its form,
Becoming, thus, an ancient when.

I walk inside the window hall,
Future to make from what I see.
I step beyond the timeless door,
Making my dreams reality.

Each day I walk inside the halls,
Remembering from where I’ve come,
Remembering where I am now
And what my dreams in this world are.

Until one day, when I’ll be gone,
Leaving behind a painting hall
To show the truth: what I’ve become,
The truth that’s hidden in my core.

I leave behind a legacy,
That of my own, of my own kind,
For he who’ll walk the halls like me,
A world of dreams to seek and find.

Da Capo al Fine

– Patricia

Beware

“In the middle of the forest,
Where the shadows come to play,
Where the darkness has its kingdom,
He who enters turns to clay.

In the kingdom of the evil,
Feeding on the sparks of life,
He who dares, the path abandons
Will be lost, will not survive.”

Demons dance to gruesome music—
Evil laughter, cries of fear—
And devour all the lost souls,
Savouring each sinful tear.

Famished ghosts possess the bodies
Which the demons leave behind,
As they seek something they’ve long lost
And then leave, unsatisfied.

Then, the empty, lifeless bodies
Shatter as they reach the ground.
What was clay then turns to ashes,
Scattered: never to be found.

“In the middle of the forest,
Where the night of death is born,
He who enters turns to nothing,
So beware: you have been warned!”

– Patricia

Midnight Thoughts—Space Wanderer

I lay down in the field of stars,
Away from worlds of endless pain.
At last, my peace now I regain,
As stardust heals my many scars.

I swim among new galaxies,
While suns are born light-years away;
I’m only human, only clay,
Yet here I am: such mysteries!

Black holes unite, engulfing light,
Expanding into veils of dark,
Yet from their core a daring spark
Ignites the ashes in my soul.

A world of truth, a world of dreams,
My sacred place, my universe.
Here I create my freedom verse
And set it free when daylight comes.

– Patricia

Poems

The poet paints his vibrant feelings,
To understand and to remember
The grass, the sky, the gleaming amber,
The unity of unstained beings.

The worlds collide with joyful music,
A dance of thoughts and notes unravels,
And trace by trace, the letters gather,
Thus giving birth to what is ludic.

Each new-found verse brings vivid spirit
To what is art, to each new poem,
They are his own, he knows to love them,
For they are shaped from truth that’s mythic.

They hold within a touch of wonder,
His heart, his mind: forever sealed.
They helped him live—forever healed,
His mark over this world, unbothered.

– Patricia

Numb

The pain which eats away the heart
Is much too cruel to disregard,
As every beat that lets it live
Brings out the dark like nothing did.

And helplessness engulfs the mind,
While all the joy is far behind.
The pain won’t stop, flooding the soul,
Feasting on all that’s sane or whole.

And then, at last, the numbness comes,
The pulse is still—venom and scars.
The frozen heart is thus now born,
Impossible to pierce by thorns.

Now all is well, there’s no more pain!
What? Feelings? Oh, that’s all in vain!
Why feel the pain when you can live
Without the burdens feelings bring?

Why care at all? Death will still come,
There isn’t hope for everyone.
And, come to think of it, don’t I
Deserve to suffer till I die?

– Patricia

Day and Night

The sun descends from amber skies,
As warriors of light arise,
The queen of night and all her stars:
Another day is ending.

A reign by day and one by night,
As light and darkness both unite,
A precious touch, such rare delight:
A border where all dreams are.

It lasts but seconds, then is gone,
A passing sign of what’s been done,
A sacred proof of what’s begun:
The universe is waiting.

And thus the reign of night begins,
Collecting thoughts, collecting dreams,
Transforming them: bright, hopeful gleams
Of joy, of life, of wonder.

– Patricia

Legacy

The artist paints with tremor
His final masterpiece. ǀ Fine
With undefeated spirit,
He knows he’s met true bliss.

And one last time, the canvas,
So white and welcoming
Awaits its transformation,
The silence—deafening.

He picks his trusted paintbrush,
Extension of his own,
The instrument of giving,
Carved out of his own soul.

And traces of creation
He starts to leave behind,
A legacy of feelings
Passed down from his own kind.

Gathered for generations,
The colours are within.
A spring of endless water:
His undefeated dreams.

This is the final lesson,
His pupil is prepared.
His presence won’t be needed
Once his art is unveiled.

He’ll be one with his paintings,
Guiding his pupil’s hand,
Just like his own was guided
By his own master’s hand.

Each one of them is stronger,
As knowledge is preserved,
The artist is the artist,
But greater: he evolves.

The hand once more caresses
The world born from his thoughts.
The painting is complete now,
He feels it and he knows.

He takes his final form now,
Empties the sacred seat.
Only a spark of lightning,
A guardian—complete.

Once more awaits the canvas,
A new day has begun.
The time flies with its wings spread,
Until it comes undone.

Once more evolves the artist,
Once more he gives his all,
Once more he paints his feelings,
Until his final dawn.

Da Capo al Fine

– Patricia

Empty

Year by year, day by day,
The tree gave all its fruit away. ǀ Fine
The people passed, time and again,
Tasting its light—an endless when.

The tree came closer to the ground,
As higher branches raised above,
People received, not looking back,
Not thanking once for what they had.

Until one day, when empty leaves
Were everything the tree could give.
Exhausted, old, it bore no more,
It’d given all its life, its core.

Hunched to the ground, it could not raise,
And all they saw was only waste;
Ungrateful, they did not blink twice
As they each passed by what was rife.

And the old tree was left alone,
As dark engulfed the light which shone,
And the old tree looked back and thought:
“I’ve given everything… My all…

I’ve given, yet I’ve not received…
I thought of them, as I believed…
What I have done, I will recall
Till the last breathing in my core…”

Da Capo al Fine

– Patricia