BY SISTER AGATHA YEN PHAM

This collection of four interconnected poems presents a contemplative exploration of faith through the unifying metaphor of God as a mixed media artist. Drawing on imagery from nature, craftsmanship, and sacred space, the poems trace a movement from fragmentation to restoration, emphasizing the redemptive potential of what is broken or overlooked.

Each piece contributes to a cohesive vision in which human experience—memory, loss, and offering—is transformed into beauty and meaning. The collection ultimately affirms that nothing is wasted, and that divine love continuously shapes and reclaims every fragment of life.

Sacred Fragments Blossoms and Whispered Prayer

Within a garden steeped in twilight blue,
A tender smile awakens threads of gold;
Soft fireflies trace paths the soul once knew,
And lift unspoken prayers the heart can hold.

A quiet spirit robed in humble grace
Finds rest within love’s ever-gentle field;
While blossoms bloom along the shadowed space,
Guiding weary steps to be revealed.

No darkness lingers where true faith is bright,
For hope becomes a lantern in the soul;
A life surrendered, softened into light,
Like fragrant blooms that make the broken whole.

The evening breathes through stars in silent air,
And heaven leans close—listening to prayer.

A Sacred Walk in the Garden

We step into the hush of velvet blue
Where twilight lingers on each blooming breath;
The air is sweet with petals kissed by dew,
And fireflies awaken light from death.

They drift like living embers in the night,
Brushing our hands with flickers soft and warm;
And in their glow, the world feels washed in light,
A quiet grace within the unseen form.

You walk beside me—gentle, still, and near,
Your presence weaving peace through every sound;
And suddenly, the shadows lose their fear,
For love has made this fragile earth its ground.

Faith is no distant, silent, solemn art—
It blooms as living light within the heart.

The Artist Who Uses Everything

I placed before You fragments of my day—
Worn paper, twisted metal, threads undone;
The pieces I had nearly thrown away,
Unworthy of the light of anyone.

You turned them slowly, studying each part,
As though they held a beauty I could not see;
Then smiled—
“The broken still belong to art,
And every piece finds meaning here with Me.”

You wove the scraps with patience, line by line,
Till texture spoke where silence used to live;
A single gem transformed the flawed design—
A quiet proof of all that love can give.

And in Your hands, I finally understood:
Nothing is lost—You make it all for good.

The Heavenly Gallery

I crossed a threshold shaped of living light,
Where color breathed beyond what eyes can name;
And every form seemed born of pure delight,
Yet carried echoes of a distant flame.

Above, the kusudama softly turned,
Like constellations folded into bloom;
Each petal held a memory once burned,
Now glowing gently, freed from earthly gloom.

You stood within the center—calm, aware,
Your hands alive with quiet, shaping grace;
“This is the art,” You said, “we’ve made with care—
Each moment of time could never quite erase.”

And as I walked through beauty made anew,
I saw: what once was mine… was always You.