No Encrypts

This piece has no encrypts, no rhymes.
Decided to write this right now because I'm tired.
Tired of crying, tired of waiting, tired of performing my duties and even more.
Although, I know after this, or even right now, I am crying, I am waiting, and performing my duties to a deeper extent.Some, duties that I don't even need to fill.
I volunteered to fill those spots (yes, that's with an s, in plural form) because I saw the urgency to have them filled. I'm a teacher alright.
I don't have kids yet. But being the eldest in a house of five makes me a dad. Well, that's what I think. I'm a dad alright.
I don't have kids yet. But being the teacher of sixteen students and overseeing them in an outside school activity makes me a dad. Well, that's what I think. I'm a dad alright.

To you, whom I want to reach but I can't because you wouldn't want me to... Three dots is what I leave.

To you, who just passed by after descending the stairs, and saw me standing by the first door... I'm taking it slow. It breaks me, but that I gotta accept. Healing isn't easy, yeah I know.

To you, whom I always count on. I know you're praying for me. Though our communication is less, I know we're still accountable to each other. Sorry for all the rants. I wasn't even able to ask your needs. How selfish of me...

To you who doesn't even reply and continues on coming in at nights, mornings even, I don't know what to do. Is your smile a mask or your words a curtain?

To You who hear me out always. I know You are hearing out. I know that Your pain is greater than mine.

This piece has no encrypts, no rhymes.

Shoreline

Tuesday before the Wednesday that marked the 30th,
My heart jumped upon your reply.
I saw land, but it was no easy swim.
Exhaustion from 210 days and nights before this shoreline.

On that dawn before the night of frost, my feet touched sand.
Yes, I know things are hard to mend. Have pondered that in the sea.
Yet, the Cross is Mighty, He should be praised.
Fix came on Week 30.

As I write, no more I could add.
I should stop counting weeks, I've reached the shore.
I still pray, we can bring it back, or even more.
Fix came on Week 30.

I always commit the mistake of not writing my toughts when they come at me.
I made a mistake, twenty eight weeks ago, alright. I made a piece about the twenty seventh beacuse my heart was heavy; the sorrow still lingers. The sorrow still lingers, coming back at nights, coming back at days. Nights while I pray; days while I teach. Yes, I teach "youngsters", yet I still haven't completely taught myself. Of course, I know, teaching myself is no business of mine... there's Someone I need to learn from. Someone who calms my tempest, Someone who calms the seas. I always await for the day that I see some shoreline from this sea that I'm in. In that great network I said people only see my shore; oceans hold the deepest trenches. In that great network you perfectly describe how I always feel. Those haunting nights and days when I remember. My grief remains even if I conceal it. I tried to conceal my grief this last high tide with our mentor.Yet, I wasn't good at it. My grief showed, alright. That time was the hardest. I didn't know the signs. Is it a sign of a fix coming soon, or a fix coming never? By the time the day of confrontation comes I hope I recognize the signs when they come at me.
I always commit the mistake of not writing my toughts when they come at me.
You watched my tribute. You haven't read Week 27.

Week 27

Restless, my heart can't find its quiet.
Twenty seventh week is one week more than a half year.
It has been long, but few had been my outlet;
Less riddles in this piece, yet, some points may still be unclear.

It's not about me, it's about you, this coming Wednesday;
Wednesday it was, 27 weeks ago upon this Wednesday of yours.
A gaze is hard to do, a word is hard to say.
Inward is chaos, even if the outward seems just a normal course.

"Abba", I call, I pray that you are alright... standing.
I've left a deep scar, mine is a bleeding wound.
I pray you're doing fine, it's right that I'm suffering.
What would happen? A fix coming never or a fix coming soon.

I remember, I'm not certain since my sight then was poor.
Was running, blisters in the making, your group then saw me.
Your group jeered, thought I heard your voice too, I'm not sure.
I hope you did, I hope I was able to clearly see.

But I recall too, moments of same magnet poles.
The night before our mentor's Day; some night before Five Candles.
Bullet of indifference. A bleeding wound in my soul.
Nights I pray, this unquiet heart to hush, uneasy heart to handle.

It's not about me, it's about you, this coming Wednesday;
A gaze is hard to do, a word is hard to say.
Restless, my heart can't find its quiet.
It has been long, but few had been my outlet.
Don't know when you'll read this, don't know if you'll ever do.
I pray you're alright, I pray this message of mine you'll get.