By: Ferdinand S. Panerio- FSP+


In the tongue of longing and grace

I withdrew mine self, for I was torn asunder,
Bleeding in silence—mine eyes, a well of sorrow.
Was it wisdom that did visit, or but a stir of mine own spirit?
Oft have I become a vessel—yet ne'er sought the glory thereof.

I took upon mine shoulders all my misdeeds,
Aye, even mine follies and grievous errors.
For I am not perfect—nay, I am but a man,
Oft tempted, yet bound by the burden to become more than flesh.

When I yearned to change mine wayward path,
Lo!—a struggle from within did rise.
Could it be but emotion that warred in my soul,
Or a shadow deep inside, that refuseth to be made new?

Mine hope did wane, and I beheld no dawn.
I sought the end—I desired death’s quiet song.
Darkness did surround me, and I wandered lost,
The pain within, too vast, too cruel to name.

But in the mountains—yea, in EMC—
Through nights and days that turned once more,
There came a moment, mysterious and profound:
Was it the Master’s Call? Verily, I knew not—but I trembled.

And lo, mine soul did awaken—
Thus was IID born from the hush of stillness,
And local-wide did follow, and at length, SBDA.
I know not why I travailed still,
But I held fast to the path, though full of wonder and woe.

Art I yet feeble within mine heart?
Alone, once more, and then again—
Yet something stirs inside me, soft and solemn,
A comfort not from man, but from the hush between thoughts.

And truly, I declare:
How my soul doth yearn for the mountains still…