The Huge Canvas in the Sky

As you walk towards a distant sound, entranced, you notice a faint rhythmic pattern in the crash-like sound you hear. You follow the sound of the constant beat and you find yourself in a place you never thought you'd ever end up in. Paradise.

The sky, a huge canvas bursting with colors far beyond anything you've ever imagined, catches your attention for it is the focal point of the picture—its very foundation. You realize that you seem so small underneath the varied colors of a fiery red, a calming blue, the citrus colors of yellow and orange, and the small, fine finishing touches of white and purple. The colors all seem to stand out and yet they blend as if united as one. The hues seem to know exactly where to go that they fit with each other perfectly like a puzzle piece. They look overwhelming, being so close to you that you could almost reach out your hand and touch them, feeling the colors penetrate your skin. The sun, sinking into the ocean for a long night's swim, provides the light so that you can see the picture clearly and admire the silhouettes of the mountains, as the last rays of the sun appear to shine out of them. You feel relaxed despite the feeling of intimidation of the sky. For the first time, since you go to this uncanny and secluded place, you look away from the magical sunset. You find yourself on top of a cliff. The ocean under you throws a fit, its waves violently slapping the cliff as if holding a human grudge and you realize that it makes the same sound that brought you to this haven in the first place. The glimmering ocean reflects the sky, making it a brilliant red. You see the sand with no footprints, making perfect little sand dunes.

You sit at the top of the cliff, paradoxically feeling danger and serenity as you enjoy every moment of it. You find no need for music: Not with the beat of the waves and the whistling of the wind. You lose track of time and when you get back on its tracks, it dawns to you that it's best to head back home. You take one final look at the scenery, picturing it for the last time, feeling guilty about leaving. Sadly, it's time for you to go. You stand up and walk away, cherishing one of your last sunsets.


Hello dear reader, my name is Cecile.

And I am 5 years old.

I am the youngest in my family,

where everyone else seems old.

I wake up every morning,

like every child does.

I eat, play, drink, and sleep,

like anyone ordinary does.

I sometimes don't feel like brushing my teeth,

or taking a bath everyday,

but Mommy tells me to offer up these things to God,

and to stop complaining right away.

I ask her why and she tells me that

Jesus suffered for us on the Cross.

And that His suffering is far worse than any of ours,

which at the end saved us all.

Still, I don't completely understand,

so she tells me that not everyone fully does.

And that all I have to do is to fully believe,

because that is all what faith's about.

I also do my daily routines,

like helping my family in my own little way.

I give them a child's perception—

Small things I do everyday.

Today, Mommy took me to the mall,

we had fun even if we just looked around.

Mommy calls it "window shopping",

but I call it "just roaming around".

We came across an art gallery,

and I could see that she saw two paintings she liked.

One was a mother-daughter portrait,

and the other was of a farmer father and son.

I looked closely at the second portrait,

there was a small white bird down below.

It looked slightly familiar,

and I knew it was so.

"Which one do you like?" Mommy asked.

She liked asking me for opinions.

"The father-son portrait," I said.

"The one with the little white dove."

She asked me why and I told her that

there was more to the painting and that was that.

The picture had reminded me

of the Blessed Trinity.

God the Father and God the Son,

both were represented clearly.

While God the Holy Spirit was

symbolized by the small white bird that seemed so heavenly.

We went back home and I went to the kitchen,

to find something good to eat.

I saw my brother studying,

and he kept stomping his feet.

He told me he had a lot of things to do,

and his problems were just adding up,

like dirty piles of the dirty plates

that he had to wash every noon.

I told him that maybe God was sending him these problems,

to remind my brother that He is always there,

to help him in everything.

And all he had to do was pray.

I walked out of the kitchen,

before my brother could say another word.

I saw Daddy in the living room,

it was funny the way he could make all things work..

I asked him if he needed any help,

and he told me Mommy's birthday was coming up.

He didn't know what to give her.

He wanted it to be unique.

I quickly remembered the painting,

and told him what it was..

He thought about it for a while,

and I could see he was going to buy it.

I thought about how Mommy's eyes would sparkle,

when she sees the gift perfect for her.

I went upstairs and came across my sister's room.

She is the eldest,

and she has problems with her mood.

I peeked in her room,

and saw her researching.

She seemed to be in her normal mood.

So, I went inside and walked up to her

and asked her if we could play.

"Not now," she said.

"I have to choose a college course or I'll have to pay"

She told me she was considering

what course she should take.

"Business or Counseling?" she asked.

"Which is better? Which is at stake?"

I told her to pick what she really wanted,

and not something else that others expected.

If she takes what she really is interested in,

success will follow

because she will like what she is doing.

But if she takes something that she didn't really like in the first place,

everything will brake apart,

like the thread in a broken lace.

Again I left with those last few words,

and quickly went to my room.

I was tired and sleepy,

for I had been out all afternoon.

I had helped Mommy,

and I had helped Daddy.

I had helped my brother,

and I had helped my sister.

Time to rest,

time to dream.

In sleep I can now rest in peace,

for my day today is now complete.


I am the investigator and the observer.

I wonder how simple things become complex.

I hear what they have to feel and say,

I see things no one else can.

I want to voyage around the world,

Solving and absorbing its forgotten mysteries.

I am the investigator and observer.

I pretend to not know what they are.

And I feel awful knowing so.

I touch them and yet they do not know.

I worry that there might be no truth.

I cry when I don't understand.

I am the investigator and observer.

I understand that not everyone wants to

be understood—it is a sign that sometimes

they want to be alone.

I say we live so we can die.

I dream about things of time.

I try very much to stay hidden.

I hope I will never be found.

I am the investigator and the observer.


People see what they want to see.

They see things that they want to be.

They want me to be what they have longed to be,

not understanding what they really can't see.

If this poem was written by a famous poet,

It would be published right away.

But if the same poem was written by me,

it will forever stay this way.

If these jargon words seem to not make any sense,

the reason would be because it's a poem.

They're meant to be tangled so the reader could have

them untangled,

and hope it's the right meaning anyway.

I am an observer,

and this is what I do.

I notice, discover, and maybe sometimes detect.

Then I write them all down so I wouldn't forget.

My Imaginary Window

One window is all I need,

to see the world around me—

To see peace in destruction;

an investigators only dream.

I long for a window so I can see,

how people are when they think they are unseen.

How two-faced and pretentious they can be,

when someone with authority can be seen.

The window is my only source,

that tells the truth about what's real.

My only view of the real world,

my correspondent to what HAS to be seen.

I can stare out the window all day long;

It's my only form of entertainment.

To see things no one else has seen—

Listening to everything in silence.


A quiet sound we seldom hear

Like a treasure we have to seek

In something…or somewhere far beyond this vast

world filled with strange, distant whirring

as we hear the hypnotic influential buzzing

of technology.


One clang and we think of torture.

Like the leaves shaking during a storm,

it makes us shudder.

In our minds we don't stop to think if maybe

the sound was made by an innocent child,

swinging out of fun in a park—a strangely

quiet one.

What Do You See?

Sunsets behind silhouettes of

perfectly-coned mountains

Mustiness of the sea after each new step

Waves slapping shores violently,

as if holding a human grudge.

Freedom of journey

Saltiness in the ocean breeze

Will something as beautiful as this ever

happen again?

Turning the Hourglass

Two triangles joined together,

balancing themselves at their tips.

A whirlpool of sand falls down,

creating a desert dune underneath.

But the sand is out of the ordinary.

There isn't anything else on Earth like this.

streaked colors of red, blue, green,

and gold descend,

leaving the top

triangle quite



encloses these

triangles is glass,

smooth and transparent like water.

This glass protects the sands of time

from escaping,

preventing anything from entering.

Who said time was gold? Who said time was treasure?

How foolish those people are that they cannot see,

how time is present in the simplest of things.

Time is life. That cannot change.

This is life. It has always been the same.

The sands of time are almost finished.

Now watch out for the most exciting part—

The hourglass turning!


What if I was always happy?

Would I still remember the value of sadness?

What if I had a split personality?

How foolish of me to ever think I did.

What if death was voluntary?

Would I have long been gone?

What if someone thought nobody cared…

That she ended up being friends with death?

Could I Be?

If I could be something more than me,

I doubt I'll recognize me.

I'd look at me as someone new, or someone very unlike me.

In front of the mirror I'd seize to see,

if that person in there was really me.

So please stop telling me to change,

Or else (it's simple really) I'd never be.

When I Get Out

When I get out of me,

I'll venture around the world.

Free and alone.

I wish I wouldn't have to come back,

Because my prison will be awaiting me.


Not all of them are perfect,

but that's where the challenge lies.

There can be no beginning,

if there is no end.



Life is merely an open book,

waiting for its close.

Turn the page,

and life moves fast.

Stop reading and it'll seem slow.


One night as I lay awake on my bed,

God bent down and kissed my forehead.

He told me everything'd be okay and I didn't need to worry.

Then the wonderful happened—He showed me his mercy.

I told Him I missed Him, and He said He was always there,

and that I had been too distracted to notice or care.

Tears of realization, guilt, and sadness found their way out of my eyes,

as they slid off my face, washing away all the lies.

He was so kind, so loving, so forgiving,

I couldn't figure out why I ever forgot about Him.

I had found him once, only to lose Hi again,

but He was so faithful, He waited for me patiently till the end.

He assured me of His presence, and I know He's still here,

He covered me with a blanket and told me there was nothing to fear.

He gave me a pen and a notebook to write down everything,

so that a new life could be found for those who have been sinning.

Then He told me to rest and to never forget,

that there too are others who live lives of regret.

So I closed me eyes and had the sweetest of dream,

and from then till now, my vision of Him has never dimmed.