Vile beings had hurt him greatly,
Ending his chance at happiness.
Now he had nothing and was empty,
Guided by thoughts so merciless.
End it he will, himself included,
Anger devouring his mind.
No, he was not at all deluded,
Carcass of lucid thoughts—revenge
Engraved on all moments to come.

– Patricia



Yet again she found herself struggling to keep fighting.
She stood still at the crossroads, breathing in and sighing…
“Do I see the point in this? Do I keep on going?
Do I stop chasing this dream? Do I keep on hoping?”

More and more she found herself weaker and just wanting
To cease all that she had tried, throw a pity party
For herself and only so. No one seemed to care for
That one dream she hoped to achieve which had made her world-weary.

“Is it worth it? I don’t know… I’m so lost and tired…
And if not, what do I do? This is what I desired…”
Pondering upon the way which would give her meaning,
She decides so: “One more time, I will keep on dreaming…”

– Patricia


Down in the valley of the shadows,
Where scattered skeletons resided,
No green grass grew, no peaceful meadows,
Only the mist of those misguided,
Their remnants: doomed to lasting silence.

No sound escaped the nameless graveyard,
No echo told the world beyond it
The screams of those who entered blindly
And never came back—shh, the silence
Is sacred. Words don’t go unpunished.

The more they screamed, the more they suffered,
Only prolonging what awaited.
The more they ran, the more they valued,
As all their efforts brought more shadows,
The hunt—more interesting each moment.

Forever doomed to be forgotten,
Their names—never called to remembrance.
No memory of them existed
Once they entered the endless valley,
With no way out, the silence—timeless.

Down in the valley of the shadows,
With silent screams and lonely remnants,
No spark of life was left untainted
By gruesome creatures who all wanted
The hope, relief and peace it carried.

– Patricia

Creation and Mould

I want to write the stories of the old,
To tell the lives of people—long ago,
I want to write new stories to be sung,
Of old and new, the future and the past.
I want to write and write. Yet I stay still…
The quill is white and silent. I am mould.

I want to write the feelings which are born
Inside the carcass which contains my soul.
I want to tell the feelings of all those
Surrounding me—their sorrows and their joys.
I want to write—the paper lies untouched…
The quill is white, unmoving. I am still.

I want to write: the universe, the stars,
The galaxies—all sworn to secrecy,
The world within and all those which exist
Between reality and never-ending dreams.
I want to write, to leave their legacy…
The quill is white, untainted by my touch.

I want to tell the journey of the soul
With all its unmasked facets—as it is.
I want to write the many thoughts I have,
To write them down, thus giving birth to words.
I want to write—the paper shines so bright…
The quill is white, so close yet far away.

It seems as though my fingers are too dark
To want to taint the pure and silky white.
My thoughts are thus imprisoned in my mind,
Too dangerous to ever be set free.
So, I wait—still, dark as the never-ending night…
The quill is white. We’re silent. I am mould.

– Patricia


A challenge is born in the quiet night,
Creation belongs to the curious mind.
Rejoicing in limits—for they set him free,
Of another world. The poet thus breathes.
Surreal the peace which governs the world,
The storm that’s inside him to thunders gives birth.
In moulding the tight chains, he knows he is free,
Creating his rhythm towards liberty.

– Patricia


Redeem yourself—when all seems to be lost,
Even the shadows left the empty carcass.
Forgot yourself—no future and no past
Levitate between nightmares and an empty canvas.
Ethereal worlds, your being is amidst
Crevices of imagination and reality.
Taking the truth of who you are from both those worlds,
Inspired by the mirrors of infinity.
Ongoing trials—you know once again—
Negate your sense of vast confusion. They show you who you are.

– Patricia


Some seek great fortune in their life on Earth,
Some want to perish as soon as they’re born.
Others embrace their journey with delight,
And others live with evil thoughts, deformed.

Some only seek the power which they think
Will give them something meaningful to hold,
Some seek the praises all others can give
And never stop to question what they’re told.

Some dare to dream and act upon their dreams,
Believing in themselves and having faith.
Others—so sceptical—think life only deceives
And feed their gloomy thoughts until too late.

Some seek the moment, never thinking twice
What legacy they’ll leave in this huge world,
While others never seem to have the time
To stop and smile, to cherish what they behold.

And only one or two in this enormous world
Won’t be forgotten when the sun of life then sets.
Ephemerality—the seal of passing mould,
Posterity—the blessing few possess.

– Patricia

Left Behind

Flying over peaceful meadows,
Lonely bird was left behind.
Desperate to catch the others,
Every breath is petrified.

Broken wing and broken spirit,
Fighting to catch up to them,
Lonely swallow fights each moment
To stay flying in the air.
Yet the earth sends endless whispers,
Calling it to stop and rest.
Broken wing receives the calling,
As the heart pounds in the chest.
Yet the spirit fights to gather
All the ounce of strength it has,
Not wanting to stop—each second
Brings it closer to its kind.
Falling, rising, wing and spirit
Fight to have complete control.
On the tired, breathless swallow
Cruel defeat then takes its toll.
And, accepting autumn, winter,
The bird stops and rests at last,
Wounded, lonesome and discouraged,
With its mind caught in the past.
While the flock will have a future,
It will die here all alone,
On the long-forgotten meadows…
Oh, the pitiful, poor soul…
Waiting in the quiet meadows,
It then hears the howling winds.
Won’t be long now, winter’s near,
It shall meet eternal spring…

– Patricia


Golden Clouds 2

I walk on clouds of fiery red,
My earthy skin I choose to shed.
Leaving behind that world of pain,
My happiness I now regain.

I walk on clouds of peachy pink:
No more decisions to rethink.
When I’m up there, I’m yet again
Free from the once limiting chains.

I walk on clouds of golden rays,
Day after day being content.
I’ve met with magic and delight
And let go of the growing night.

I walk on clouds of darkened grey,
On silver linings which portray
The growing hope I feel inside
When I’m up there, walking on clouds…

I walk on clouds of peaceful white,
Loving the freedom and the light.
I walk and smile and I dream,
Bathing in warm and pure sunbeams.

– Patricia

Letter to Myself

Dear Me,

I’m writing to tell you it’s good to be back,
The pain you have suffered wasn’t in vain.
I’ve been gone for so long, but now here I am,
Accepting the scars, the sorrows, the disdain.

I never meant to be gone for so long,
I’m sorry. I know you felt lost and depressed.
I’m sorry I forgot where I truly belong.
I left you alone and got lost in a trance…

I know you felt lonely, abandoned and scared,
Anxiety lurking wherever you looked.
In searching for me, you forgot who you were
And grabbed onto others in your search for the truth.

I know how much you hated that you felt insecure,
Despising yourself for falling so low,
For seeking approval from all but yourself,
For not knowing your value, for how desperate you were.

I know. And I love you. I’m finally home,
I’m here to support you through no matter what.
It’s alright, you’re still you—undone, beautiful.
I love and accept you; I embrace all your thoughts.

I love you. I love you! I mean it so much!
I know who you are and the lessons you’ve learned.
Together—I promise—we’ll find our way out,
Together—a team. I’m awake and you’re strong.

We’ll fight through the darkness, through fears—we are bold.
You make the decisions, I’ll follow prepared.
We’re in this together, I—the shield, you—the sword,
We complete each other. We love and we dare.

With Love,

P.S.: Alis volat propriis.