Pensive Soul

Saturday, 4 April 2026

I forgot how to write
when I met you
you gave me nothing
to remember
No souvenir on this dresser
Not even a pic together
You weighed light
And I could not use your feather

I forgot how to write
when I met you
Your language
Seemed like foreign matter
A whole new strange encounter
It even made me look
Like a bad reader
A doubter
I pinched myself
To remember

How to write when I met you
I could neither feel
Your love
Nor comprehend
Your actions
That never matched
On the scale of your words
I forgot how to write
Because you changed
your mind
often
Not caring how I feel
I even looked in the mirror
A lot of times
Just to see if i was still real

As I peered hoping to see
As I paired hoping to see
On a pier hoping to see
Your light
Your love
Not something i comprehend
As resembling hate
Is there light
Through your window?
Is there even a crack of faith?
It bothers me
That you made me forget
Almost regret
To write
When I met you

Copyright©2026 by Camille Caliscia Patrick

Friday, 30 January 2026

Facing the Fire

Your manhood

is no kept secret,
yet the man behind it
is seldom revealed.

Maybe only
a figment
of a rejected past
you still drool over—

If in fact
it is concealed,

From the inception
I saw your fire,
yet walked into
your naked flame.

If you can't
smell the smoke
that engulfs

you,

logic says
deny the pain.

This dysfunction,
by will or nurture,
is peril

to escape.

If the yard
is burning,
Must one
enter the house

to
suffocate.

Tuesday, 27 January 2026

A Path Chosen

A Path
That is chosen,
yet one that parts.

Cross-dressing the truth
to parade the deception
of lies.

So well dressed,
yet so naked
to the twisted perceptions
of man.

So placid
to the old,
foul mouth
of woman.

Yet invisible
to the eye,
the coldest heart,
the unkind soul.

Lost
to the accolades of man,
and the surrender
of any voice

that treats the truth
with scorn-

An undaunted privilege,

granted even

to the most callous of beings

Saturday, 31 May 2025

Predator in the Pews

You wrap your deeds in a smile—
You devious praying mantis.
Nothing is ever genuine with you;
No conversation ever true.

All agenda.
Heart full of hate,
Painted red—pretender,
Rummaging through the pews
Like a full-fledged predator.

Envy drives your hollow quest,
You crave the gaze, reject the rest.
Sneaky, sneaky—
You rewrite holy truth for show,
But even lies can overflow—
And now attention knows.

Fool them—because you can.
But you’ll never fool me.
You're not smart enough
To school me.

Let silence be
The distance between us.

Wednesday, 5 March 2025

UNTIL DAWN

Loyalty is only blind for a season,

but if the earth revolves in its usual place,
in its usual space,
there will come a time when
all loyalists will see

that the public good
is a private affair—
with a price.

And the man who begs for bread
could very well be fed some rice
by the one who devours steak—
if only he was awake
to change
his season.

Loyalty is only blind
in the night,
but if the earth keeps turning
on this axis,
there will come a time when
all loyalists see

the hidden foe—
friend, brother, member, lover,
and every other reason
to commit
to the heart of someone
with a cloaked agenda
in your winter.

Saturday, 8 February 2025

Memory in itself can do you no justice
If in yourself you were not magical and sublime,
Your construct pens love from multiple sources
Making you an incomparable haven.

In one instance, you echo happiness
Yet in another, you absorb tears
For five senses were brought to life
Solely to do your bidding

The lonely heart and the diseased being
Network across great distances
To embrace your entirety
To be swooned by your spell

But the teenager in his naivety,
The aged in nights of feebleness
Long desperately to free the spirit
And equate bliss with your release.

For nature has birthed but a fortunate few
Whose solemn rhythm crawl at your mercy
And though your magic seems burdensome,
The snail, the turtle, and the distant soul
All seek refuge in a place called home.

Copyright©2013 by Camille Caliscia Patrick

CONDEMNED

Crippled by doubt, paralyzed by fears

A condemned man sits engulfed by his tears

Few thoughts of freedom, as a gentle wind blow

Enchained by deferred hope in ways no one else knows

Through his soul's windows, he peeps out at life

Then remembers the days when it cut like a knife

Wounds of experience, the dark colors of age

Limit his imagination and handcuff him to rage

It’s his own self indulgence that bore him regret

Yet chance of appeal he refuse to accept

For truth calls out to Him more than anyone else

And though he desires much freedom

He complies with the sentence of self