At The Sacred And Profane Poem by Obed dela Cruz

Two and a half years-a time of faithfulness,
But the past six months were the worst in three years
Even if I was told of the wilderness
You had set me up to prune my inner spheres.

What was the warning for, then, if I have failed?
Can there be sins that have been predetermined?
Am I done with the road I'd gone and travailed.
Or must I continue crying to the Wind?

I'm here, O Lord, at the sacred and profane
With vows I've kept so long, but now they are broken.
I don't know where I am; everything seems vain.
When I hear Your plans, it's hard to say 'amen.'

Heaven is no longer my aim, yet I fear
The reality of the netherworld's flames.
Many times I prayed to help me make things clear,
But it seems You prefer risking cards in games.

Pity, I am a desecrated temple
Enclosed by those I feel responsible for.
It is not easy to lead by example
If there is no peace inside me, only war.

Nevertheless, I would once more try to pray,
'Lord, have mercy! Give me the purpose and peace
That I need this juncture to walk in Your way!
Let the light in my spirit now increase.

Trample upon the others gods I exalt
And make those who see me tremble and wail
Because You purge people and places with fault
Until everyone has proven death does fail.

Let me be a holy vessel of Your will-
A servant who loves mercy and works justly,
A remnant who leads people to go uphill,
A firm rod You can use to build Your city.'

June 16,2016
Marikina City