If then by the river where tears are hung low and stream albeit with its flow, then I must remind myself to fly with the blueness of my sacred scars.

I must peek around the bushes of this musky forest and hung low beneath the painted glass sky, where painted by shallow blue and bland pinkish canvas and clouds hanging grey and brisk.

I must learn to be still where birds flee when they gather around my presence and sing screeches of pain and hope.

I must lie down the billowy surge of these big waves that tries to weigh me down; for I must learn how to sing under the water and keep my nose dry and eyes swelling while I was beneath the painted glass sky.

For even when the trinket beads of my sweats holler at the sight of my numb hands and feet carried away by the quantum of the deep blue sea and the way it glorify the kiss of the clouds,

I must be like the rain so I can stay gloomy forever and the river may have its story to tell how its philanthropy saved me from a bucket of bloods from the war.

Flesh and bloods and clattering cries, the fear between my toes soaking.

I stood ajar, no longer felt the pain. It drenched nowhere seen, or perhaps I just forgot how it seemed.

For the world were full of sinners, for preventing you to sin. That was how much I sacrificed.

For I may deliever you from evil, for how much love I've treasured then. I solemnly prayed.

I prayed as you were unborn today.