I was four years old
When I didn't believe in God.
I thought God was not true,
But He helped me when I felt blue.

In my dream, I saw the Lord Jesus Christ.
He told me He died for us
For the forgiveness of our sins
And for the fulfillment of the New Testament.

When I woke up that night,
I cried so hard.
Now I truly understand
And I won't let Jesus out of my sight.

I know there are things that are hard
For someone like me to comprehend,
Yet I never lose my hope and faith
Because God is my food of strength.

Today I promise myself to be good
And spread the words of our Lord God
Even in my own little ways
I'll serve him all my remaining days.

By: Alon Calinao Dy

I'm laying in the ruins of my own new lifestyle.
Tipped over bottles of ***** aside,
I still feel okay.
I wonder if the world's crusted over pedestals still condescend to me
or if I have gone beyond their gaze.
There are little plastic fairy tales dancing around in my head like tipsy gumdrops.
What wonders shall spring from this:
(the new day,
the old day,
the ever increasingly frequented day)
except hangovers and light thoughts about how I'm handling this well,
I'm handling this extremely well.
Again.
I still feel okay as long as there is 80 proof to wake up to.

Change me
Strangely
I long to be whatever I am
Instead of what I pretend

Hear me
Clearly
I'm pealing lies collected in the years
And therefore shedding fear

Rarity
Clarity
Finds me in and brings me out shining
Take my hand and come with me

Take the bottle of Jameson
my favorite one
triple distilled like a loaded gun
Imported Irish whiskey
makes you feel frisky
so drink up quickly
before the bottle's gone
Pass it around to and fro
lost in a thousand gulps
a quickly slowing pulse
my favorite flavor
my one true savior

She had a pair of bright eyes
somewhere between hazel and green
he was never much good at colors
there's a spark in those big eyes
which carries a hint of
I don't know what's going to happen next
and her pouted lips
raise at one corner
to suggest
she prefers not knowing what's next
"Oh Miss bright eyes,
won't you come for me?"
he sighs
in the early morning
and before his drunk head
rests on that pillow
She makes the closet romantic in him
want to write a whole bunch of things
his friends would call gay
and he doesn't care
she has him now
caught in the spell she cast
with the gyrations of her hips
in sync with the drum beats
which ring out from the basement speakers
his bright eyed girl of mystery
and adventure
and maybe love
He has always had a thing
for bright eyed girls

I am not alone here, these words accompany
Always close at hand, sitting right next to me
Ringing in the silence of the room behind closed doors
Bouncing off the walls and off of the hardwood floor

Tenderly caressing what is left of my heart
Nudging my hand to the pencil, telling me to start
Wiping tears from my eyes and connecting the drops
Presenting the painter poet with a vision of art

Not today, oh not today, the sore is much too deep
The artist in me cries that the fall is much too steep
But inspiration beckons me this grim and lonely night
Inclining me, between the tears, are the words which I must write

Goodnight, Goodnight

Each and every etching is a tearing truth to me
Falling again and again into a tragedy
But on I go as pain does grow and ease at the same time
Escaping my mind and etching on my heart with every line

This is not depression, this is a cleansing thing
See how the words choose to echo love to me
A losing game, a crying shame, a message wrapped in tears
A courageous allegation surrounded by constant fear

I will be done wih my sitting with my words soon
As they float in the midnight sky up to the moon
I will never see you again inside the tears I cry
Only in the words on paper that you left behind

Goodnight, Goodnight

I am at the point of a unavoidable breaking
This life that overcomes my will and all I'm undertaking
And to say I've found neither solace nor peace would be a correct assumption
But you do not see me past your judgements and presumptions

I am at the point where I feel my heart about to shatter
Turning into grains of sand mixed with dreams that no longer matter
Yet you desire to see the smile that's actually a frown turned upside down
Just so I'll say "welcome home" as I act as the matt that you stomp to the ground

I am at the point of screaming at the top of my mind
Seeing the things that the world's forced me to leave behind
See all the mistakes and heartbreaks that litter the floor like shards of glass
Cutting me and dragging my consciousness back to the past

I am a tattered soul who is choking back the tears
Just to say hello and make it seem I have no fears
Being crushed under the pressure of the smile plastered on my face
Seen as no commodity, but only something that can be replaced

I am a rebirth waiting to happen that your eyes dare overlook
The page written by the hand of God that's unread because mankind closed the book
A tried and failed prototype that is this world's very own casualty
And yet it should fear the future, for it shall no overcome me...

Not today...

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.