Frustration.
Stagnation.
Dissociation.
Imagination.

Alternating footsteps.
Running.
Jumping off.
And soaring.

The Hummingbird that catches.
Prevents the fall and scratches.
Unstruck matches.
Contains fuses and fire.

The flight leads to Land.
Where cotton is sand.
Where Life is grand.
Where Weak Knees can stand.

A lifetime in minutes.
A minute for eternity.
An eternity of chosen Destiny.
A Destiny that'll never be.

A Captain of the Sea.
A Chief among the Trees.
Commander of the Breeze.
In Reality never Free.

Staring off the sand.
Lived lifetimes that never happened.
Just to come back the next day.
Where the Lost is not Astray.

I’ve dreamed of many things
of queens and kings
I've seen within
how soon it takes
for moons to break
and stars to burst
but which came first
the dream or the dreamer
I’ve already been here
a million times
lived a thousand lives
so watch me die
a supernova
still a ******
the sun, my lover
I’ve tasted warmth
and burnt my tongue
I’ve cried through fear
but didn’t run
so still I’m here
lost in dreams
fighting giants
without the means
I’ve been the hero
and the villain
of the same story
so I keep killing
as nobody’s caught me
death to the dream and the dreamer of things
let us see what reality brings.

Is the surface of the soul like moon stained craters....
Or aquamarine like magical glaciers....
Is the surface of the soul scarred with battle wounds.....
Or is it a sheet of ice you lie beneath with lips of frozen blue.....
Is it a field that stretches forever with happy wildflowers.....
Or sands of time with secret dunes that devour prescious hours.....
At the surface of the soul, no encounter is by chance.
No matter what the terrain of your inner land.
You must sink or dive below the surface,
to ever really know.....

There we are
Bundles of thoughts and nerves
We plan and script
Burn the midnight oil
Charting paths and mapping
Defining destinations
But then, life happens

And it will

I suppose I could brood
And close tired eyes
Or I could lasso a cloud
And hitch a ride to paradise

I am no good with words
staring at the ceiling
Finding the right words to
Describe the poem
that i've imagined
one hundred times
in my mind
Coffee in the yellow mug
that is later unfilled,
filled again
to fuel my nerves
Polaroid from the past
Scattered by the train
like a leaves
Too fast, i cannot grasp
Crossed out letters
Crumpled papers
Under my bed
Pendulum tirelessly
spinning
I am a newborn
A baby
Clueless in the world
A tabula rasa
A baby
Clueless in the world
But you,
you are filled with associations
Attached with threads
in any objects
that I laid my eyes on
The tip of your needle
follows me
wherever I go
Pinned me scornfully
on the shallowness
of my bed
Untill I bleed sentences of
how your eyes disappear
when you laugh
or touch your earlobe
when there's a storm
brewing in your mind
The pen is getting smaller
cold coffee
my back aches
paper after paper
The poem in my mind
that i've imagined
one hundred times
In the library,
museum in Manila,
in the grass field where
you pluck the string
of your guitar
while I sat there
and drew
every
form
of your being
One hundred times
in my mind
Remain hidden In
the shadow
Veiled from your gaze
Because I walk on the book
While you thrive on the ground
Would you read me?
I am no good with words

Old radio occupies
desolated shop, unmoved
When it opens, transmission
change from time to time, untamed
Fuzzy haze filled the airwaves
I still listen to its sounds

Buzz, it says where have you been
Buzz, it replied from business
A short break from the DJ
Here comes Gymnopedie 1
I played the keyboard, you're right
Buzz, to another channel
Conversation between me
and unnamed friend as we dive
Into the vastness of the
universe. "We're not alone,"
I started, looking above.
"We are just a grain of sand."
"But where is everybody?"
Pondered he, puffing smoke in
the stillness of pitch darkness.
I nodded, "maybe because
Advanced civilizations
sought to isolate themselves."

White noise swallowed the broadcast
I am here again sitting
in the cobweb-covered shop
Blur faces from the window
Cars intersect, then part ways
My body yearns for repose
They say sleep rest our psyche
But I know my wire so well
Sleep does not rest my psyche
My frequency pilgrimage
Across the land, sea to sea
I can hear the radio
Constantly, halted to flee
An unfamiliar station
entered the box of audio
At full volume, I'm all ears.

On a tight rope
Between spiders webs
Swaying in the wind
Life flows and ebbs

Rain crashes down
Choices to be made
To run back or ahead
My vision it fades

To my rights whats known
The ideal bubble
From whats been told
Risen from the rubble

To my left it whispers
A gentle caress
It sparkles, it glimmers
Feels free from the mess

If I turn to my left
A cord tugs my back
Could I free myself
To cut some slack

Seems if I let go
Ill fall to fate
Will I fly to the sky
Or claim check mate

Taking a deep breath
I release whats safe
Trust in the unknown
With this leap of faith

I do believe this world is mine,
A realm of one—my butler and I.

My butler, not a servant, but a caretaker,
Equal to any man, as all men are.

No status, no wealth, no pride
He exists, helps, and devotes to his work
Committing no crime
Just as I am a man
Except I am all the things a ruler is
As nasty and cold as a man gets with a mountain full of gold
I think I cannot  grow frail and old
For what one calls a dream, divine,
Is but a slow demise of mine.
As for my caretaker, he shall be the wealthiest man who ever lived

a paradox, perhaps you'd say
imagination frees reality
what if it's the other way round:
reality frees imagination

my lips forget your ironies
waters feel your surrender
the rush hour of something ineffable knows
you are caressing the back of the light
your words are crispy and salty

I emigrate into a silence that keeps its promise
I'll learn your steps like the worm learns the apple
or the sea learns the depth

light learns colour from its carbon dreams