Catanduanes Forum

In times of doubt, I find myself revolting from within because of
my inability to understand the problem that besets me.
Yet I believe that someone is out there who wants to
be spoken to. She is always there waiting, not an afterthought,
but an inspiration.

To the Lady in White

Count not the days of sorrow;
But of times that mattered most,
With each moment we can dwell,
The meaning of things lost, thus
End the lingering fear in our hearts.

The rose in summer, it withers not;
She is content of the morning dew,
Drenching petals, shades, and thorns;
And all those that comes to being,
The sweetest smell we come to know.

The bud looks up to heaven yearning;
Where art thou, oh minstrels of yore?
Come now and write those hymns;
To waken those deep in their dreams;
'Tis time to meet the glorious day.

The catheral doors... are they laid open?
To let in weary souls and those of us;
Who now repents and bringing scents;
To the Lady in the altar,
She is who loves not one...but all.

Would the saints complain, if I may ask.
Clothed, sanctified, and blessed;
They were as mortals like any other.
Whispering, pretending, and all;
Ashen are their faces...their heads bowed.

The Lady in White seeks reprieve,
For those of us weary and forlorn;
She says...come now and rest with me;
In this God's fortress we will be together;
It is our home, a citadel to start again.

jun soriao