Oh God, though they pronounce me incurable
And all of my days will be miserable
I shall still hope that tomorrow’s gonna be gentle

For men are created to uplift the weak
They’re also obliged to comfort the sick
As Your Son, Jesus, tended the meek

I’m so damaged with outlasting sore
My former radiance is hard to restore
Can do nothing but to always implore

Seeking a friend to let a hand
Or a genie who makes wish a command
Or a Moses who leads to Promised Land

But as I wake up in reality
Everything’s uncertain, the future is gloomy
Where is the hero who will save me?

Oh God, help me to become sober
Though my night seems to be longer
I still must hope that morning comes sooner.

-12/21/2012
(Dumarao)
*My Morning Poems Collection…written on Apocalypse Day according to Mayans