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Rubble of our house. Beneath filth and boulder,
Parts keep, days revealing each to wonder
Of our probing hands. What wistful names possess
These items--wood, lock, familiar foyer
Of home, door? Softly, we pronounce them, seizing
Memory before word, told once when like warriors
We brawled against flood and tempests; time packing
Our bags but still we stayed. Suddenly mere glass is more
Than window or rim to measure and restore;
Remembrance more than a dream we pocket after
Sleep. Again, we nail back walls to stand;
Patch a future together from nearly nowhere:
Cardboard box, iron sheet-this is roof, remember?
Aware, we shift through scraps of pre-planned
Ventures, and chuck out once we could not shell
Anymore within these shaken borders. This, finally,
Is reform: refitting pieces for change intrinsically
Of need, redrawing links so we can rebuild, retell,
Retake the stories of our broken house.
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Writer Profile
Angelicum Oda
Our National hero have won a moral battle without using ammos, writing alone made him one of the greatest filipino to ever grace the world. He's fight shouldn't be going to a non sense, instead following his footsteps. Writing is a proof of Human's intellect and comprehension for without it Barriers for Nation and Races will have a firm foundation and will be difficult to break.
Writing is one of my passion and I have been writing since I was 13. I have published works both locally and internationally. I plan to continue writing to gain confidence and self contentment.
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Comments
olawale | Feb 21st, 2006
this is quite good. need to read over again!
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