Good Riddance

I throw dense boulders on my past.
Old kicks and punches,

fractured mast.

Tearing my heart

to simple shreds,
a gain in tears

from which they fed.

I throw dense boulders on my past.
Releasing pain,

set free at last.

Despair at sail,

each day I failed
alone in snowy

storms of hail.

I throw dense boulders on my past.
Lessons received,

fermented fast.

Solemn pictures

in pretty frames
creating life

from petty games.

I throw dense boulders on my past
Awakened life,

designed contrast.

My heart is new,

people are true
with shiny distinct

point of views.

– Grace Y. Estevez


Foreshadowing voice, I hear in my head
by holding my hands,
my steps you have led.

Foreshadowing voice, I carry inside
your guidance I seek,
your rules I abide.

Foreshadowing voice that speaks with my mind,
clear me of my sins,
make my heart feel kind.

Foreshadowing voice that lifts up my soul,
I release the wheel,
let you take control.

Foreshadowing voice residing in me,
open my blind eyes,
teach me how to see.

– Grace Y. Estevez


Where does the sun go after we sleep?
To places profound, in realms that are deep.

Pure light in the sky
makes everything bright,
present every morning,
a shadow at night.

Where does the moon go after we wake?
To magical lands, where dreams are not fake.

By comforting darkness,
each visit disguised,
an essence so pure,
an aura so prized.

Where does our soul go after we die?
To places beyond a wink and a sigh.

The ether awaits,
where wishes are made,
all wants can come true,
sad memories fade.

– Grace Y. Estevez


Engaged with the thoughts, I carry inside.
Enslaved by the chains, that force me to hide.

I revere the sound
assigned to my soul.
Fueled with a craving
for breaking the mold.

Enraged with the strength, to go with the flow.
Encaged now set free, go where the wind blows.

Rejoice in the sound
assigned to my soul.
Unlocking all barriers
while letting things go

– Grace Y. Estevez


“A mature fruit could not reverse to unripe, but can easily rot if left in the dark.”

– Grace Y. Estevez


A seed left alone,
relies on the earth.
She prays for a sprout,
her reasons for birth.

To live with no purpose, 
is her greatest fear.
Gained strength from the sun,
dries up her moist tears.

As her seamless growth
stuns her with surprise.
Her fears are now gone,
the clouds start to cry.

Not knowing herself, 
or what she will be.
embracing the tales,
exchanged by the trees.

They spoke of a time, 
when they didn’t know,
what they would become,
or how they would grow.

They learned from the breeze,
to simply exhale,
their breath offers life,
and wind to a sail.

Blooming with reason,
knowing of her power,
her petals brings joy,
with love from a flower.

– Grace Y. Estevez

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