(Original date of publication: 09/23/2017, 2:13 P.M.)

Thee September,
You’re the March of fall–
I remember.

The true Seventh,
In thee,
Life defies death;
And death surrenders
To valiant memories.

Thee, September,
You’re the beloved
Harvest of Charlemagne’s.

On thee, September
Petals bloom in rosegold;
While the soil shimmer in moss;
Crops beam in stunning hues amid their daunting fate
In the refrigerator.

Thee, September,
You’re the fairy godmother
Of forget-me-nots, morning glories, and asters.

In thee,
Those pretty blooms
Shine with silvers and sapphires in the dinner table–
I remember.

Thee, September,
You’re the year’s
Most gentle.

In thee,
Lavander and vanilla competes for the best scent
To win the purest heart
Of the meekest air we breathe–
I remember.

Thee, September,
You’re the crowning glory
Of Michael the Archangel.

In thee,
He cast the fallen in abyss of abyss;
While Heaven crowns the oceans and seas,
The faithful and hopeful,
The dreamers and doers of leis and wreaths . . .

. . . crafted by the humming angels
Who’ve been stalked
By dozing butterflies
Who’ve fallen
In want at first sight.

Thee, thee, September,
Oh, I remember.

Time is another four-letter word
that may sound so simple
and very elementary;
but it has so much power
over you and me.

That perhaps
if religion and I
are strangers,
I’d say,
time must be god.

For everything,
and everyone
is subject
and constrained
of time:

To live
only to die. . .

To grow
only to perish. . .

To enjoy the vanity of youth
only to bear the grim of aging. . .

To learn
only to be senile. . .

Damn that time!

Its ironies
are violent winds
blowing my mind;
its neurons and electrons
are about to call 911.

The slow-thinking caterpillar
becomes a restless, all-knowing butterfly.

The endless sky from powder blue
turns deep black as day retires.

The ever vigorous Sun gets tired
being consumed by everything that breathes;

while the naked moon
with gay serenades;

and the stars
dance the time of their lives.

The pale seeds would spawn into
the greenest leaves;

radiant flowers
bloom in bliss;

But hey, those
are for just a while.

For those foliages would turn yellow and red
and be tossed by the wind without dignity;

while the blooms would lose their beauty without a trace
as their petals wilt in dismay.

The Missy who is once a head-turner for her flawless skin; now
wears cracks from her cheeks to heels.

The Adonis who is once adored for his six-pack;
now mocked for the beer barrels he carries front and back.

Damn that time!

Though my heart beats louder than the ticks of clock,
“time remains of the essence.”

Damn that time!

Mama,

I can’t thank you enough
for all the wonderful things
You have given me–
Not a single bad I recall.

With the nine-months alone
Of putting your feet to grave
As you carry me in your womb–
I can’t thank you enough.

With the many hard days
And sleepless nights
Since I was born–
I can’t thank you enough.

With the running and cramming
I put you through
during recitals to graduations, baptismal to wedding–
I can’t thank you enough.

For the tears you shed;

For the laughter we shared;

For my secrets you kept;

For your patience that never ends–

Perhaps Mama,

I can’t thank you enough.

But know I love you more

Than gratitude can show.

Happy Mothers’ Day to all moms in the world!

(Courtesy of YouTube)

In my journey to life,
too often,
I nearly get lost
between darkness and light.
But thank goodness,
I stumble on the gifts.

If the gift of light
brings me knowledge
to man darkness,
the gift of peace
however,
leads me to wisdom–
through acceptance–
that such darkness exists.

If the gift of light
brings me courage
to deal with the unknown,
the gift of peace
however,
leads me to grace
that leads to possibilities
which often come
with the unknown.

And if the gift of light
brings me understanding
to unwelcomed thoughts,
the gift of peace
leads me to compassion;
allowing me
to reconcile
my thoughts
with my morals
and values–
of those,
of Heaven’s
and Earth’s.

For if the gift of light,
never fail
to walk me through
the valley of truth,
the gift of peace
always allows me
to run worry-free
in the valley,
and all the way
to the apex
of serenity,
even if
my eyes
are closed.

For the gift of peace
always bring
the brightest light;
allowing me to see the world,
myself,
and everyone around me,
not by sight;
never through the eyes,
but through my heart
and soul.

YouTube/Danny Wright/Forrest Gump/’Feather Theme’