“O, death
Where is your sting?”

Here is the yarn, quite simple but profound. This is how it was told it commence with the things I abhored: lights, music, and a girl I knew. She was merely a nothing.

There were four series of lights wreathed on the recycled bare tree where the white paint glistened. As she recurred, the hues were red, yellow, blue, and green, while the wafts swayed the festive music. 

She goggled at the entire glowing tree and without a glimpse of another second—red, yellow, blue, and green—it bent back towards her eyes with unaltered wonderment. These hues and music and wonder heralded the approaching, immense day of the year—Christmas.

The twelfth month was unfurled before her eyes, and she was invited to join the 31 kindreds marching on their way every 24 hours. Eventually, 360 hours passed by, and the sixteenth kindred blew in horribly. 

In an abrupt moment, darkness devours the lights, a forceful wind annihilates the music, and the glistening paint was sluiced by the deluge. Her eyes, however, with brimming awe abides.

On the damp floor, she crouched while entwining her arms around her knees. Since it was a frigid night, it was a fearful sight.

Oh, death and sorrow, descried under the roof. Her eyes persist in beholding the terror, but she can’t manage the pain—taking a gander at vulnerable eartlings, old and young. Neither the adults nor the children seem to grab the opportunity to rest. A joyous song of Christmas changes into a symphony of weeping and smashing of wind—this is deafening to her.

Each thought is unbearable, for there was only one exit—death; when it arrived, no one could plead for an escape. Their lips trembled, their feet were dithering, and they pleaded and prayed. 

Yet, where was the fear that throttled her? If it was not there, one thing I am certain of is that I am at her side. But, there were another two girls, and wait, three more earthlings, which fears were gone. How could it be? They should have had fear.

What happened? There was a new song I heard. It was a hopeful melody. Forsooth I heed, she sung “In Christ alone,” the other two ladies sung “Across the Land.” 

Who gave them such hope? Neither melody nor joy should be present. It should be grief and despair. 

The enraged night was covered with the brilliance of the rising sun. She saw a swarm of juveniles and an old, rugged trees kissed the soil. Leaves were minced and pounded. Houses were desolated. Even the bravest man she knew admittedly uttered, “Fears swallowed him.” Due to the fact that this feeble girl should be afraid, but there was none after she prayed. What sort of aid was it? 

I dare say, her fear was gone and much hope I found. 

As my mind remembered, it was an immovable hope—so strong and bright. As how she yearns for the arrival of the twenty-fifth kindred.

Today, eight days after the catastrophe. Neither lights nor water were there, yet, I heard her telling a story before the two children. She said, “Listen, Santa Claus was not true and there was no good man. It was said that Santa would only give his gifts to children who were good. But because all are sinners, not a single one should receive his gifts, and it would be meaningless. Children, you should know and you must know that Christ is the true and perfect gift and hope of sinners—not only on the 25th day of December. He was forevermore. And you should repent and believe in the Gospel, ’til there was time, “she ended her account.

There were no more red, yellow, blue, and green lights. In the midst of her and the children, there was a single amber light coming from the lamp. The hope and awe in her eyes was still there, and they were singing in a capella—this is abominable in my sight.

Her hope was in Christ. That’s for sure.

This midnight, they will celebrate Christmas. They hearkened back in their heart and soul the birth of Christ and His death and His resurrection.

I am here. I have no empty room, even when I attempt it. Someone indwelling in her is so powerful, it blinds me and blows me away. Hence, I have no cling on her. I disappear. 

Happy Christmas.

Postscript: It should have been posted in the twenty-fourth night of December, but sadly, the internet connection at my place was poor due to the devastating aftermath of Typhoon Odette. Still, everyone have a very Happy Christmas. May Christ be exalted. 

Have a blessed day ahead!





Beloved, behold the splendid and blazing star in the morn,
As the sweltering rays caressed the ground and burst forth its mourn.
There were dust, I gazed, beyond my firm sight that form and  born;
Oh, t’was a legion of skeleton marching with clutching horns.

A breath of life and rotten scent hovers the land of thorn,
My eyes urged to forbid; some sleep in the bones of lorn.
I hearken the thunder descending from the hill that torn,
Avast, tissue covered the bones and glowing robe they worn.

Truly, what a great aim of glory they shout and sawn;
Rues forgotten and runes sung from the lips of a living sworn.
Steered by the unseen fiery wind and a holy zeal burns,
Behold, eyes couldn’t see and ears couldn’t hear, yet, they warn.



” Solus Christus “

The time of twilight fades and the beaming sun was interposed on the firmament. Myriads of human beings were born. Tears of gladness roamed around the earth, but weeping and grief were also perceived; few had never survived. Even at the beginning of life, manifolds can continue and some are halted. Leastways, the trodden arrive at the young sweetheart in the labyrinth flower garden. 

Barefoot, she stepped into the meadow, aye, with sparkling eyes beholding the wonder of the land. Hitherto, her white gown was sullied; she never knew because she was enthralled by the mellow aroma of flowers. Scarlet, gold, sallow colors, yet, reckon not those lovely hues far beyond her sight. The shapes and sizes of petals differ. Anyone who passes by cannot resist its alluring ambiance.

However, she wandered and met new wayfarers too. There are words raised by the wayfarer, ‘Far I came to satisfy my desire, but despair and tired I gained. What gain was it? Lost, I say lost, only it was. I wasted not my voyage, young demoiselle, but, alas, the right path was unseen. Solely seen through the rugged tree. Glory! This white robe I wear I never trade. Avast, and bless you!’ He flashed a big smile and wave swiftly.

The droplets of sweat descend freely. She’s exhausted from traipsing. Hence, the fluttering of the butterfly’s wings burglarizes her aquamarine eyes. It landed on the burgeoning flower and below in the grass and soil. There she saw a gardener and hastily asked. ‘Goodness, fella! Miles can’t be reckoned just to find someone who can answer my one query, that even ten folds of people can’t say any words. I appeal, you would be the one whom I am seeking.’ A blithe enjoyment she had.

‘Grace and peace be upon you, lassie, and take no longer for your query.’

‘I met a wayfarer along my way wandering. My memory can’t forget the words he said. It was a rugged tree where I could solely find the right path. The pleasure would be to know where I could find it.’

‘Hearken to my word, I am assured that neither I nor other people can fulfill your request. But, I know Someone who can. Always stay on the right side of the path and never turn left. Behold, you will see a rugged tree. Make haste lassie!’

Wounded were her feet, but she never knew. Behold, there she saw the rugged tree, but the alluring aroma hindered her.

She wept and looked at the tree. She ran nearer and wept at the foot. The smell of the tree is far sweeter than all the flowers in the garden. Uncomparable to her sight, taste, and smell. This is precious.  She saw wounds and thorns she got from the beautiful flowers. She thought that the garden would lead her to a wonderful life. Now, she understands it deceived her and will only end her life in death and despair. Apart from the tree, she can’t and will not see her wounds and sicknesses.

‘What grace that led me here! How could a wicked and blinded sinner like me, come here all alone? Could my corruption and moral goodness save me? Alas, I cannot save myself. Hearken, it is by this Solus that I am weeping over my sins and tasting the freshness of His grace. He wore the sully clothes I had, and I wore His white robe.’

‘I no longer love the sight of those thorny and deadly flowers. Now, I love and desire to know, taste, see and smell this rugged tree all of my days! My eyes are fixed upon Him and Him alone! Life is found and joy is complete, the heavenly taste is satisfied!’ 

The white apparel she had own, cleansed from her wanderings, and looking at the rugged tree — the only hope of lassie. 

‘Grace be upon you, this robe I am unworthy to own! Look far and behold, there’s a rugged tree!’ She said to the wanderer and declared the good news to every wayfarer she met.

09-03-21, 05


Star creation fades
Immutable who made.”

I gaze upon the illuminating light of a billion steorra. Astonished by its wholesome brilliance that conceals the darkest night. I grab my camera and position it in my hand to get the right angle that might capture the best picture of my luminous friends.

Click; a flash spread before my eyes and there I saw in front of me a finished photograph. I smiled at the result. Perfect shot; my mind agrees. After minutes of appreciating the picture, something disturbed me. 

Why can’t I capture the exact beauty that I witnessed this night? Why can’t I? There’s something missing, there’s distortion. Sad, and I’m wrong about my first impression of this picture. 

I captured it with my camera, but the real light, color, and darkness of night were truly caught by my eyes deep in my heart. 

Who created all of these things? As the camera was invented by man, the intellegence was from God, but it didn’t catch the exact stunning nature. Yet, God has also given us eyes to witness them, ears to hear their twinkles, a nose to smell their mellow fragrance and hands to touch their sharp edges. 

How amazing and beautiful they were, but the more it makes sense when we know who created them. Not only to appreciate steorra’s fading beauty, but also to praise God, whose beauty and sovereignty rule forever and ever. As many as the stars are in the night sky, so numerous are His mercies on those who fear on Him. 

There’s no reason for us Christians, not to worship our God creator and great Savior!

Blessed be the Name of the Lord, Most High, everlasting!

07-29-21, 04

Postscript: Steorra is an old english word meaning ‘star.’


“A Savior died
And a sinner lived.”

In the deepest and darkest dungeon where death awaits. There was a young boy who was arrested and thrown into that cursed place.

You broke all the laws, and you will suffer and be punished for your iniquities, till your death,’ a knight said with great authority.

The young boy just cried loudly with anguish and grief. Helpless and hopeless he was.

Four decades after…

A hopeless young boy is now an old man. The white beard and scrawny hair are growing, the skin is wrinkled and the strength is no more.  Watching the sun and moon shift every day is the only consistent sight from the puny hole in the dungeon. Apart from that day, he noticed a peculiar shadow and heard footsteps echoing along the dungeon’s passageways.

A very familiar prestige of a man holding a key, standing in front of him. He bent his eyes towards him. And with honor and power, the knight said. ‘You are now free.’

He was ultimately speechless, with relief of liquid flowing down from his tired and weak eyes. 

He couldn’t believe it.

‘How? Why?’ He asked. In his inner heart, his iniquities were no forgiveness. It is full of rue and sadness. 

‘The Son of the King claim all your penalties, every fault you have committed he has suffered on your behalf. Rejoice and sing runes,’ the knight said.

An old man’s heart has no more room for his gratitude. What a gift it was. O, pardons that released him. Mercy that he never deserved, he received. 

A great life, truly, for the man who paid his debt.

And he can even die for that Prince for He is worthy of renown.

 Freedom, now he breathes.

08-15-21, 00


“Damsel’s journey
Was upshot lonely
But there is one and only
Cure that is holy.”

Cold water, blue cap, warm clothes, rugged shoes, tiresome backpack, and spoken orison.

These things indicate the word, “Ready.” Plainly, she’s reckoned to travel today with one certain goal; that aim she only knows. 

The bus halted in the bustle street and spew her and her comrade. She is not alone. Good it was, for she could not do it on her own.

Perfection, when there was no distraction and diversion happened till they arrived. The beaming faces of the damsel shone as they greeted. Words after words were uttered, but someone altered them and said “No.” A single word could ruin a day and her melancholic voice was heard from her mouth. 

Hopeless, yet, there’s another way to get back and achieve her goal. Her comrade lightened her and they had a diversion of track. Unfamiliar places they went. 

Lost. The word lost constructed their great displeasure. Blinded they were by their situations that they never noticed such hospitable men willingly helping them. 

Nevertheless, this day they failed. They just rode again on the bus, full of frustration. Looking back to their home gave them gladness. 

Of course, the goodness of God they missed to noticed, fellow hospitable men, safe travel, drops of rain, and beats in their bosoms. 

How could they miss it? They missed nothing in their self-enactment and not to what God ordained.

Assuredly, they must look unto Christ, not at their performances, because it will lead only to despair, for we have nothing good assurance in us, but Christ; He is surety and everything. Also, so am I guilty of faults and failures, and I also need to look unto Christ and depend on His grace alone. 

Grace and peace be unto you, my brethren!

Endure the day!

08-09-21, 01


Dear world,

When I was young, I always wished that someday I would grow taller, so that I could see the world. I was hopeful when the rain came and poured on me. I smiled the whole time, thinking that I was growing. But I saw my old friends didn’t have smiles on their faces. Is it because the world is boring? And not fun anymore? Or simply because they don’t like the world?

I cannot ask them because they are tall enough. And they couldn’t hear me speaking beneath from them. These questions are playing in my mind and I am craving for accurate answers. Again, the rain came, and the wind blew my tickling leaves. I was laughing and my heart was occupied with lots of joy. And I heard a melody that surrounded me. There were birds singing and flying around me. I saw myself growing taller. I can see now a little view of the world my friends are always seeing. There is smoke. I’m thinking once more that this world is happier than I can only imagine. This world is full of excitement and fun. Even so, I am still in the midst of growing. 

The sun embraces my whole being and I can’t resist its warm welcome. It says ‘ Welcome to this wonderful world.’ So I can’t wait a long time before I grow. I am eagerly excited. Days passed by, I became taller and taller. And the rain fell on me again, and I saw a strange thing that stole my wondrous eyes. A colorful rainbow is engraved inside this heart. And not knowing I had achieved my wish. I reached my dreams that I only wished before. 

The rain, wind, birds, the sun, and rainbow complete me. It helps me to be who I am today. Yet, my high expectations of what the world is all failed and really broke my whole heart. 

When I grow up, my life has change. Yes, my dreams came true to see the world. But the world’s dreams are to destroy us. This reality kicks me out of my imagination world. I witnessed how cruel the world is. Its not antics thingy any more, it’s the reality I face everyday. 

Every morning I am awakened because of the stink I smell. The thrown garbage was disgusting to me. Hours pass by, and not just one person has thrown away garbage, but many, a lot, or several people. The wind blows smoke. It makes me giddy. The smoke comes from a factory, cigarettes, garbage, and vehicles. I want to feel the fresh air again. I guess, my smile came back when I saw my little friends. The birds that make me glad are now just passing by, and wearing their lonely faces. My whole face brings back the sadness of this life. I never experienced the warm embrace of the sun because it was too hot and burned my skin, I thought it was the rain healing my pain from burning, but it was the sweat falling down into my leaves. 

My heart sucked. These scenarios always happen every day. I want to sleep in the morning because nightmares happen, because every time I wake up, one of my friends has gone. I’m scared that this cruel world will also kill me. 

I just look up every morning at the sky, waiting for the rainbow that will appear. There’s no rain. I feel dry, and old. I am weak and tired of living in this world that gave me birth. My questions to my fellow friends got answers. But still I am living with a big question mark in my brain. 

Why was I born? Why am I breathing? Why do they destroy us? Is it because we are just trees just standing in the same area? Is it because the environment is not important? Are we not important? 

My questions were answered by a little drop of rain. We are important. Indeed, the rain was used for us to live, because we are useful. We are rooted in this world to have a legacy and help the world. My heart wrenches when I remember how my fellow friends continually sustain us even when they are gone. The fertile soil is their legacy to the remaining.

But this lethal feeling kills me. I thought it was just a feeling, but it was not. The nightmare I’m always escaping. A nightmare that destroys everything. This real world is cruel. I just felt my heart broken and my tears falling while my leaves set free from my hold. My fellow friends are all lost. Cut by them and die from fire. 

I have only one wish. ‘World, please hear our broken symphony until there’s still an extant. Don’t let us lose without our story told to everyone. Let us be one of your friends you are taking care of. ‘ 

I finally smile, and this filthy world pierces my aching heart. And stole my last breathe. I fall down to where my life began; to soil. 

Your friend,

“Strong branches
Yet, e’er wishes.”

Postscript 01: I edited its grammatical errors, but never replaced the words I used before. (08-06-21,05) (16, unknown)

Postscript 02: I wrote this in my 8th grade. A child I was.


“Eyes have seen
The whirling wind
By this young maiden.

Meandering lone with my black backpack. The shadow of trees masks the road. Withal, the sun rays harmonize the beatitudes of nature.

In the waiting shade area where it was measured. The whistles of vehicles passing by. I, patiently abiding whilst imploring that a bus, when granted, shall wind up in frontal.

Hours after hours, diminished, opportunity has not yet come. Heavy sigh. The blow of a bus assimilates my ears. There’s a lingering bliss in my hollow muscular organ. 

This is it!  I throw my hand gesture and the yellow bus stops. Smoke hovers in the air and the door opens. My red skirt blew as I hastily barged in.

As I have my seat, taking heed from the dusty window, I mutter, “Nobody knows it is my first time.”

Indeed, it was. Who would know?

My mind is chuffed; My friends, what a day! It was my first time riding a bus! Thank God for this privilege! This is grace alone!

However, the bus starts to roll its wheels and leaves nothing, but only smoke and a stamp.   

Road,lead the way. She’s ready for this trek.