midnight muse

learning me

the higher you get to that cognitive plane

the higher you realize there is nothing to it

you only look dull and mesmerized 

to the beauty that is being blanketed

in the soft glows of pixelated realms

bumping only in the engines of my mind.

I do recall the night owls, hooting, 

while playing a soft accordion

on the long pillows of sweets and scorns

it said that life is neither borrowed nor bought,

but only like a blister on a speck of dust

i do not understand those meanings

nor do i have the strength to know it

i only know my existence lies on the way

how i feel, how i taste, how i see, 

how i hear, how i touch and how i smell

they say it's an existence of a fool,

a buffoon or a nincompoop rolled into 

soft, quiet niches of our cubicled mind

literally, quilting out the drudgery 

of my silent talk, and wide awake sleep

No, i don't care, i love the poetry of the sun

the warm caress of a morning breeze

the smell of wisdom and pure philosophy

the taste of a budding art form

and the sights of vision of tomorrow 

laid down before my feet... 

these make me, me...

and the thoughts that I made up

are the thoughts that conform to a boxed world

unlikely, yet slowly, being unwrapped 

in my parallel drapes of my forgotten self.

[Las Pinas, 05 April 2017]