I’ve already graduated from high school,
But I’m still living in our house.
So I need to get used to commute
From East Fairview to UST.

It’s really different now,
Literally farther from usual.
It may be one ride away,
But with a longer travel time.

So, I have to leave earlier
Than the usual time back then.
If I don’t leave early,
I’ll get stuck at Espana for long.

FX or bus, you name it;
Whether partially or almost full.
Even if it’s very crowded,
I have no choice but to fit in.

So when I know I’ll be late,
I cross my fingers so hard,
Wishing that my ride
Will take an alternative route.

I just hate the fact
That when all else fails,
Even alternative routes
Are totally filled with cars.

In just a few months in college,
I already learned shortcuts to UST.
At least when I know I’m stuck,
I’ll find a way out of it.

In life, however,
There is no shortcut to happiness.
You still have to go a long way,
And withstand the challenges along it.

So we have a choice
And hard work is needed;
At least you know that
You’ve done it with effort.

Well, if a shortcut fails,
That means try another one.
But what can I say?
Manila is a busy road.

So I have to expect and endure
The heavy traffic flow at Espana,
As much as I can do it
In my own busy life.

Two different bodies, much parallel by space,
Yet they’re seen as a similar soul, much too wise;
Frankly, only one thing connects their far-off lines:
The cross in the form of a woman who inclines.

Meeting them is no pure coincidence, she lauds,
For a change of heart brought their lone planes with applause;
But the baffler still ponders about these young gents,
Why would Fate make me the origin of what bends?

Much amazement can they to charm our muse’s chasm,
Brought out of an obscure triangle to spasm
And make her plight more difficult to make choices
So as to bring a cut-off with life’s dull voices.

Oh, but who am I to decide for one fine gent
If but my dress be the maiden of honor’s bent?
Now, give me a plausible reason to choose you,
It might be your last of me and be it adieu.

Please, discern of who shall be your beloved half,
Just between black and white, never the grayish bluff.
Will it be the wise fighter or the wise equal?
They may blind you with mirror looks, so choose lethal.

More than a month had to fly by since your flight,
And, oh so soon, all banners will raise.
How I long for that most-awaited embrace,
Next thing you know, you’re out the freight.

Regretted that I didn’t bade my farewell,
But hey, didn’t I gave my blessing in advance?
Look at all that I did for music’s entrance,
Prepping myself to face you & sing so swell.

Soon, I won’t have to confide with shying away,
After all the practices alone with a guitar;
Watch me as I unveil my solo performance by par
As one of my biggest steps with gay.

Of course, I won’t be there physically,
Waiting among the flock of people at the air strip.
Then again, I have something for you under my grip,
47 letters of those 47 days I don’t miss naturally.

Instead of giving it all, I just decided
To summarize it all here in this fine piece of poetry,
All I felt, no hint of a parody,
From your departure till you’ve landed.

All this time you’ve been away, it’s tough
And not to mention, all the conundrum that shook me.
Although I’m still not free,
Knowing you’ll be back kept me standing rough.

Though I stood in eternal silence,
I didn’t give it all up for you.
For I know it’s something you wouldn’t do,
And thanks to you, I got out of my own pestilence.

There were other muses who tempted me to forget,
And even deceived me that it’s love.
My eyes opened to discern more like a dove,
Lo and behold, the calendar kept me to count and get.

Now, all the waiting shall bear its fruit,
Oh, I can imagine your plane landing safe
And running on your spikes, away from the knave.
Wait, where’s my gift from your trip that you recruit?

If this were to be the last of my odes,
Wait, an ode this isn’t for all of them,
Let me tell of this poet’s misfortunes
That has engulfed her to a requiem.

Everyone who sees her turns to sweetness,
Who wouldn’t turn down her cozy ambiance?
No wonder they turn to her blessedness,
Heart so crystal pure you won’t miss a chance.

She desires to fulfill her own heart song
And change from a sad and perilous past.
Alas, Fate is toying her all along,
Plummeting her to a prison aghast.

Now, she is but drowning in her own blood,
And all she can do is wait for Hades;
I see her soul being caught by the rod,
Gasping for her life, clasped into Eris.

Sadly, she falls to a tragic pure death,
Her carcass as feast for the dogs and worms.
Meanwhile, her soul is given for a breath
A dark ambrosia rejected like germs.

I can’t help but cry of how life fared her,
But no, pity isn’t to be given;
All the pangs of pain, she’s now the bearer,
Anon, the goddess of the forsaken.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, and weeks have passed,
How much more times I’ll glance and stash away?
As I sulk here, see me flip the pages
Of this nicely-collated calendar.

Counting down the moments I’ve raged aghast,
Clearly, this distance I can’t laud to sway;
Seeking too much on familiar faces
Just makes me miss you, so peculiar.

But then, this muse can’t bear this sweetest past
As the radio keeps on playing The Fray,
The last time we’re close, we target aces,
Wishing to go together so far.

Atop the sky, airplanes that appear rushed,
Oh, I can’t wait for yours to land and stay;
Permit me to write this, don’t file cases,
Poetic license is familiar.

So until then, I bid you my luck fast,
You’d have to remove the world’s mind of gray;
And I shall pray as you head down to places,
Don’t worry, I support you from afar.

It was then uncovered onto my wee young years,
But left out in the cupboard, perhaps out of fears.
All in a snap, it opened like Pandora’s Box
And spread hope and joy that dispelled strife and hell’s fox.

Moving on and out truly have been the best choice
For I have now found a reason to use my voice;
From quiet, a translucent soul’s metamorphosed,
Lo and behold, a phoenix thumps more than supposed.

See how the golden voice transformed this mute maiden,
A voice that has made her life turned and forgiven;
Here now, she sings and strums not for herself no more,
She now sings for better things that matter than score.

Look at how things change when touched by her gentle song,
The rain stops pouring, the bad turns to good along;
To think, it wasn’t other people whom she touched,
Even she herself, pure to the soul, have been changed.

See now, she’ll continue to belt out her good hymn
Until her swan song will be last as it seem;
But forever will her flight to bring goodness be,
So the wind sings with her muses onto the sea.

From the quiver of the pen to the keyboard’s point,
From the chosen people to the current lineage;
When all the buzz about eternity is joint,
Only one name is being uttered till end age.

They say it is nothing but merely fallacy
And purely unadulterated orchestra
Is this God of many old people’s fantasy.
But what of me, a young writer of such aura?

Sure, you say I’m but just so naïve of pure faith
But I stand up front and braveas a living proof;
I’ve faced the difficult challenges of all truth
Yet I emerge victorious and more aloof.

No, I know I’m not alone in this feisty fight
Since the world’s tendency is to make judgment rule;
Alas, for the forbidden they have turned to gray plight,
Oh but fool’s gold they make and unleash as their tool.

Now, the voice in me screams so clearly for my God,
The author that never halts to work in silence;
No more of modern idols to hold, praise, orlaud,
Even as I’m casted, you’re with me at islands.

Nonstop you move, taking away nothing that harms
Your chosen flock, all choosing your mission to do.
To who else I can go than to your loving arms,
For I shall not find rest till I find rest in you.

It is up to your senses to grasp mystery
Of how God quietly works, believer or not.
Though, one thing to note in pages of history,
Hey, God has done for you and me a lot of shot.