Mental Illness is not a violation.
It's a human experience.
One many carry unspokenly.
The real harm is uncovered
How others respond:
The quick labels, the cold
Stares, the whispered verdicts.
A mind in toil needs support, not punishment,
Compassion, not condemnation.
Because the truth is straightforward:
The crime is in the person
Who sees the hurt and chooses to
Judge it.
Legends became one,
by risking it all to find...
what will become them!
time spinning away
here today gone tomorrow
enjoy each moment
15.09.2026
Believe when the road is long,
Believe when the night is cold,
Believe when the world says no,
And your dreams seem hard to hold.
For faith can move a weary heart,
And hope can light the darkest way.
What seems impossible today
May become your joy someday.
So believe in what you carry,
Believe in the strength within.
The journey may be difficult,
But you were born to begin.
Hold On
Hold on to loved ones and show that you care
Hold on to your principles, those you wish to share
Hold on to your dignity, when events are not so fair
Hold on to those memories that can never compare
Hold on to your inner strength with all of your might
Hold on to your will that makes you stand and fight
Hold on to your emotions, those that cause you fright
Hold on to your empathy for those not treated right
Hold on to your inquisitiveness to seek what is true
Hold on to your sensibilities, share your point of view
Hold on to your common sense that you always knew
Hold on to the possibilities of what may come anew
Hold on in all your strife
Hold on for dear life
SAVOUR THIS, MY CHILD
Nothing reflects reality
Like God’s supreme beauty.
Look into the mirror, child,
And see His greatest reward:
Savour it in thanksgiving, for a while:-
No matter how many times you do,
You’ll always see God’s precious beauty
Looking back at you: this will always be true:-
Know that your beauty has its fragility, needing
To be anchored and solidified before it can be
Sanctified utility: codifying its glorifying liberty:-
Rising, with the mist
Sunrise, how I’ve missed
Brilliant light, so alive
Morning song will survive
Birds fly across the skies
Muffled, breathless sighs
Reasons for warmth of dawn
Erasing shadows from the lawn
Oh, laughing sun, rising bright
Rescuing hearts from the night
It’s Sunday morning, this day
Will surely offer a chance to pray
For the joy, peace and love
That comes to us from God above
Always faithful, like the sun
Showing us that we’ve just begun
To see the wonders of our life
And feel the love healing strife
We’re surely given each new day
To lift our hands, praise and say
God is blessing our souls with grace
No matter how powerful the dark we face
Always, morning comes to reveal
God’s new hope our hearts can’t conceal
He is the Master who created all
Thanks to His gift, His gentle call
We know, this Sunday, as we pray
We’re full of thanks every Lord’s Day!
I was a child with questions, no answers in sight,
Why was love absent, why was home not so bright?
A little girl stood in a storm alone,
Searching for love that she had never known.
But then two hands held me, old yet so strong,
My grandparents whispered, "Child, you belong."
They did not ask about my scars or past,
They gave me love that would forever last.
They taught me to read, to write, to dream,
To find my voice, to proudly scream.
Where mother left shadows, they gave me light,
They turned my darkness into mornings bright.
So no, I am not broken, not lost anymore,
I have found what I was looking for.
I am not the tears my childhood knew,
I am the love my grandparents grew.
Written: September 11, 2026, for a contest sponsored By Margarita Lillico
Please listen to the poem lyrics in the sound video
***************
At five, what counts is the moon in my room—
a kite, stones in my pack, and a balloon.
My mother's warm hand, and grass after rain,
The world is vast, and wonderment is plain.
At fifteen, what matters is being seen,
a name on a wall, a place in the scene;
A friend who stay when the whole world departs,
and one reckless love that can break two hearts.
At thirty, what counts is building a life—
a weather-proof roof, a child, and a wife.
To stake my hours on a future I trust,
And learn what to hold when desire turns dust.
What counts at fifty is knowing what stays,
the unhurried morning; light through the haze.
Voices I almost lost tracking for years—
hands that head to hold me midst miles and tears.
At seventy, what counts is slight a thing—
a chair in sunlight, the hush before spring.
One face I can name, one hand holding mine—
and enough breath left to say, I am fine.
Leonardo stands in the hush of his studio,
paintings breathing softly behind him~
the Virgin’s calm, the inventor’s restless sketches,
and the Mona Lisa waiting on her easel,
her half-smile already carrying
more secrets than the room can hold.
Beside him, the cracked egg waits~
its shell veined and luminous,
a chamber where silence has been working.
Leonardo touches it,
and she steps out smiling,
the broken shell releasing
what had been forming in quiet,
an idea finding its shape
the instant his hand
made room for it.
*apertura is a Renaissance-rooted word for “the moment creation steps forward.”
We know not what each new day brings
So, we must bear life’s curves and swings.
Not knowing when the tide would turn
Is what creates uncertainty.
If only we could ever know
the way that everything would go,
Then we can know what to plan for
and live our lives with certainty.
Since we could never ever know,
the way that everything would go,
We plan our lives as best we could,
and trust things turn out for the good.
God, your maker, knows the future
And he desires what’s best for you
If you yield your whole soul to him
He’ll not leave you to fate’s whims.
In the future God is planning,
there will be no end to our lifespan.
Earthly troubles will then be ended,
and the living will be splendid.
Those whose trust in Christ is thorough
Do not mind the unknown morrow.
For the God who knows the future
Is the one who'll see them through.
A LIFE AND DEATH PERSPECTIVE
Living and dying,
Should not be deemed as surreal;
They are both so real:-
The crucifixion was real;
Likewise, was the ascension:-
Living and dying;
Physical realities,
Canvassing the soul:-
The soul sowing the spirit:
Is not Christ still here with us?
Never fret dying,
And being retired from life;
Spiritual pension waits:-
With washed feet of love’s labors,
Live and die in God’s glory:-
I sat again on that old broken bench at the park,
Watching birds, people, and the last rays of the sun fade by,
Remembering our final words—spoken so far from kind.
A single tear I had to shed for the moments lost in time.
The skies turned suddenly ominous, though I knew not why—
But by the grace of God, a little girl smiled, ever so bright,
And I finally realized: forgiveness is not so far behind.
His light, falls gently
Erasing the melancholy
The summer’s grief
Restless praises, stirred
By the music of a grace
Beyond the heavens,
Where love can amaze….
Sweet notes of praise,
On lips of leaf and life
When starlight trembles
Keeping away this strife…
Autumn’s brisk light
Falls across the night
Where melancholy
Whispers to a moon so bright,
Streams of tear like dewdrops
Rest on the soul who knows
Whatever comes in this life
God above will exalt…
Every heart who remembers
He is One who knows me best
And, with Him, life is forever blessed!
I gave you a Rose,
fond blossom of the
season. You replied
with a heart, a garden
for all Time --
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