Messages from My Soul

A Clime I Know Of

A/N: I forgot to bring my scratch papers so I have to type impromptu. I'm sorry if this work's worse.

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A CLIME I KNOW OF

You call it the Philippines, I call it home.

'Tis a clime I know of,

A place made up of seven thousand emeralds--

The choicest emeralds of God's court--

Lavished upon a pacific ocean.

A place wherein I've smiled and wept alike,

A place wherein I've dreamt and failed alike,

A place of the free, where the sky glows

A sapphire blush, unfettered from a million shackled nights

And dawnless mornings.

You call it the Philippines, I call it my mother,

'Tis a clime I know of,

A place raised from the abyss of oppression

By the telamons of the peerless men of yore

Who've died, unfearing of what's at stake,

The blood of the brave runs in my veins,

The exalted brown skin of mine,

The blood of the loving imbues me,

And endows me with the power to sing

In jubilation, in silent glee,

In wordless thankfulness that I was born

From the womb of this quiet nest.

You call it the Philippines, I call it my sole sanctuary,

'Tis a clime I know of,

Where none can bind my dreamings, my reveries,

Where I've let the cracked veil of childhood flake off

Then reassemble them at will.

This is my hall of worship, where I thatch together the shards

Of misery, then with God commune, where I find sense

In anarchy, where I find order in utter disarray,

Or where I see a mirror of myself

Reflected by the light and shade,

Redolent of what I've lost, then with the hope

That kindles some internal fire,

Where I may gaze to the gorgeous sky

And proudly shout out to the highest heavens, "I'm home."