Since I was young,
I was taught to stay,
hug, and kiss good bye.
But right now,
I'd never thought
that you wouldn't
hear our last good bye.

Every time I would see you,
I would be prim and proper.
And each time I see you,
You're surprised I've grown taller.

Each  day you'd go
and come back home,
you never forgot the people
who's welcome you home.

Though we never talked,
nor had real conversations,
you still thought of us
at least in some occasions.

You wouldn't know,
and probably never would,
but I dream for you to be proud,
like a little girl should.

I dreamed of talking about,
what I can and could do.
To make you laugh
with the jokes I learned at school.

I'm not even eighteen,
but I see you here,
and I wish to see you living
and welcoming us somewhere.

We rarely see each other,
but it is always a fun time.
And we'd wait again,
to hear a call from you chime.

To you, my dear Ninong,
I never asked much.
But I  wish one more day,
to be with you and have lunch.

But your eyes rest,
all we hear is silence.
And we wish to see you again
even with patience.

With our hearts mourning,
We ask God that you're in heaven.
I give you my last farewell,
hoping you're enlightened.

.














.












.

The moon lays down,
On the field with leaves full of grace.
Tis where the memories I've had earned,
Now, beyond my embrace.

In the loom, unseen,
the weaver rests their head,
for even in the makings of fate,
one tires, one always gets tired.

But one breathes deep,
With a worn out stare,
To marvel, not at the piece nor wool,
But at the threads they'll never wear.

And one sighs heavy
with a weary gaze;
to lament, not at their own misery,
but at the passing of insipid days.

But these does not tremble,
The little faith of their young.
They still dream of heroes and gold,
Not one inch of  forlorn love.

With light,
glowing gently
gilded in gold
giving gravity
grievance for
keeping them
grounded.

After breathing, one brings a smile.
Not from joke
but joy
Of the young laughing for miles.

And the hope in their eyes,
like a love that never dies,
is the reason for my solace.

For the peace of my mind,
And the insipid days that pass through,
I now marvel at the threads,
Now a piece that stays true.

Like the red thread of Fate,
of Kismet, of Destiny,
I am happy in your embrace.
I am happy here with you.

Now one rolls his sleeves,
Doing the work again,
Remembering the love of his fate,
Made him sew *again.