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Poem

If nature is as inevitable, as changes, ultimately defines the weather
By the same natures-fortune decree, none of my sin could ever define me
For I am my Father’s finely tuned art, look: His Spirit dwells inside my heart
Coated by the shielding of His sweats, droplets, dripping from His brush
Painting red markers-a-cross my ways, as His life-force flows, without delays
Just as pure as His blood washing away, the pains; I rest, through His Reign
I became as free as how a butterfly conquers the world, though, by and by
That even every falling-tears has words to say, saying, “goodbyes” to my eyes
Through the unprecedented deconstruction, enlightened, an inner satisfaction
Heaven forbid; no one can deceive his own heart for so long, that is wrong
One day, I may as well, rather break my own heart onto thousands of pieces
So, in pieces, I got to redefined myself unto the ship, my Father once built
Within the very Spirit, His only begotten Son; has manifested under the sun
The sheep that was once lost in me; has found the ship which holds the truth
That from within, every sea of every, heart; there is a certain, lighthouse
With a kind of light that burns and yearns and soothes, unto the ends of time

by: Wilbert Evangelista, Dela Cruz

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