Jose Radin Llorca Garduque Poet Rhyme

195 Hope

195.

Hope



Oh God, though they pronounce me incurable

And all of my days will be miserable

I shall still hope that tomorrow's gonna be gentle



For men are created to uplift the weak

They're also obliged to comfort the sick

As Your Son, Jesus, tended the meek



I'm so damaged with outlasting sore

My former radiance is hard to restore

Can do nothing but to always implore



Seeking a friend to let a hand

Or a genie who makes wish a command

Or a Moses who leads to Promised Land



But as I wake up in reality

Everything's uncertain, the future is gloomy

Where is the hero who will save me?



Oh God, help me to become sober

Though my night seems to be longer

I still must hope that morning comes sooner.



-12/21/2012

(Dumarao)

*My Morning Poems Collection…written on Apocalypse Day according to Mayans

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