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

Looking Back

Oh, time, my cruel enemy,
Couldn’t you simply stay by me?
Couldn’t you take my hand in yours
And walk with me, despite my faults?

When I looked back, couldn’t you stay,
Couldn’t you let it be my way?
Couldn’t you get that my mistake
Was so that I could stay awake?

I looked behind and then I tripped,
Yet you moved on, although I slipped…
And now my past’s absorbed me whole,
Great danger lurks around my soul.

I can’t escape and you are gone!
My fate is sealed, I can’t run,
As shadows from my past arrive,
And I can’t live—remorse will thrive…

– Patricia

Beneath What Seems to Be

A graceful deer walks alone
On cold and crystal veils of snow, ǀ Fine
As howling winds from far away
Engage in dances of decay.

Gentle and sweet, it leaves behind
Traces of life, for death to find.
Innocent, pure, it doesn’t know
That death will give its final blow.

And step by step, the spark of life
Is bound to give its final fight,
As darkness comes, approaching it,
Then waits—the perfect time to pick.

The graceful deer walks on snow,
Or so it thinks: the cold’s unknown.
And suddenly, a horrid sound
Reveals the truth: water, not ground.

A hidden lake and such thin ice,
Deceiving once, deceiving twice.
The fragile deer feels cruel fear,
And in a breath it disappears…

And now it’s gone and silence comes,
As death now waits for other ones.
The scenery is still—a lie,
As frozen tears fall from the sky.

Nothing betrays what here has been,
The frozen lake looks like a dream,
The trap is set, deceives again:
Alluring, lifeless requiem.

Da Capo al Fine

– Patricia

Will it? End?

I try to move to no avail,
The thorns have pierced my fragile skin.
They leave deep scars, a painful trail
Of what I am and where I’ve been.

And violent screams play on repeat,
Reminding me that I’m still there;
Music of death grows bit by bit,
Deafening till no more I bare.

The more I fight, the more I cry
As thorns go deep inside my soul.
A horrid, gruesome lullaby
Become my cries until each dawn.

And there I lay in endless pain,
Waiting for… what? I can’t recall…
As heavy tears of blissful rain
Pour onto me, easing my soul…

– Patricia

To My Thoughts—Give Form

Dark clouds on the silky blue,
Covering the loving light:
Clouds of crows—nightmare come true—
Give out screams of sheer delight.

Gathering above my soul,
Eyes so small with shadow claws,
They start pecking me as whole,
Asking for the words I owe.

I cry out a desperate plea,
Wanting time, a few more days.
They savour my misery,
Feasting on my empty clay.

As there are no words to claim,
They devour every thought,
Picking anything they can:
Sanity and bliss—all gone.

In the midst of such great pain,
A pure dove escapes my soul.
I now know how to regain
What’s always been mine: control.

Gazing at the white of joy,
I stand tall and speak out loud:
“I’m the mind, you can’t destroy
What I choose to set aside!

I create and no cruel time
Can subdue what’s meant to be.
There’s no claim for what will shine,
For the time I set it free.”

As I speak, the cruel birds
Disappear without a trace,
And, instead, feathery whites
Pull me in a sweet embrace.

Art is mine, the words as well,
I decide when they are born.
Time may say “So long, farewell!”,
But I choose when to give form…

– Patricia

Stars of Snow

I step out in the winter night,
With cloudy sky and empty streets.
Snowflakes descend to give me light
And all of them I watch and greet.

I know them and they know me, too:
We’ve met before in hopeful dreams.
Destined to meet, we won’t undo
The fate which now above us gleams.

I welcome them with beating heart,
Receiving happiness within;
Their falling dance becomes true art
And, thus, my being they redeem.

The flame inside now coexists
With shining stars of what is pure.
They’re one—a blissful masterpiece,
Salvation and a sweet allure.

– Patricia