Mystery is a dance to the moonlight.
A white flower left untamed,
untouched, or else it spoils.
Ghosts of the unknown dancing
on the sun’s grave. It is their realm now.

The titans of worlds past
woo my eyes away from the screen and lazy fan
away from summer or winter,
spring or fall,
away from time’s endless dance.

Like a pearl, in the moon it glisters
hinting there’s more to come.
The great fields I knew, now unexplored,
seduce me out of my wedlock to the ordinary.

Slowly, touching my soul,
they remind me of all that I do not know.
The worlds I will never see,
beaches with purple sands on which I havn’t stood.

Mysetry.
It wants me,
it calls me.

Alone,
trapped in the prison of the night.
Sailing through dark corridors
with doors that, like ancestral graves,
will never answer.

Living in the unhaunted rooms in which
time has stopped from living.
Haunted by your own thoughts,
monsters of doubt chasing you to this edge of life.

Fearing to mode a speck of dust,
as to not awaken the fear,
that none shall wake,
you hover between states of existance,
questioning.

And as you pick the shade of roses
to put on the grave
you start believeing that you are
Alone.

Walking through a lengthly street,
Drinking sober gin,
As darkness pours from neon lights
I look out to what’s within

I ignore you so acutely,
my silence rings too loud,
I stand baffled there before you
Hiding in an empty crowd

I can’t control my discipline
And my hopeful fear
As I reach out close into me
For words to appear

Our silences in harmony
Synonymous contrasts
Glass shards left unbroken,
Avoidingly harass

Then I leave with tense relief,
Eternity is fleet,
If I were to taste the moment
I would say it’s bittersweet.

“Why, O why does the sun shine?� asked the caterpillar, resting in his cocoon. “I have no use for it, its light will never reach me.�

“It is not for you, but for all other animals under it,� Said the passerby bee, “are you truly so arrogant?�

“Arrogant? How have I ever treated you with arrogance?� Reacted the caterpillar, astonished to hear such an insult. Seeing no use in waiting, the bee sighed and went back to her hive.

`Truly,` thought the caterpillar, `what have I done to anger her so? Am I at fault for not understanding why, of all the things it could do for the good of all creatures, the only thing the sun could have thought of was to shine?`

He wanted to finish his speech, and tell the world how unjust it just is, but he couldn’t help drifting into a slumber, slowly, slowly, without even noticing…

dream chased after dream, thought haunted itself, going around in circles like a dog chasing his tail, and images of blooming flower crossed the caterpillar’s mind when he mumbled in his sleep a new question to be asked: “Why do flowers bloom in all colors? Such a useless attribute I have yet to have seen.â€?

It so happened that the bee was passing near, and could not help answering, “Have you no sense of elegance at all? Cannot you see how the colors make our world rich and beautiful?� And then, with a sigh, she left him to his devices.

`Why am I to blame?` The caterpillar asked himself, `am I tainted for asking a question so obvious as that, when it is thought of, is just unavoidable?`

He wanted to continue and show the world how stupid and illogical it is, but he soon could not help falling asleep. His thoughts drifted as his mind settled like a lake after a storm, until the only reflection on the water was that of the blue sky.

At sight of this, the caterpillar could not help but think to himself out loud, “Why is it that the sky is blue? Would red or orange not be more fitting?�

The bee, who happened to be strolling by, could not help but replying, “Cannot you understand the nature of serenity? Of a sky beneath which one cannot help but pause from one’s work before returning to the hive?â€? With that being said, she sighed and left the place.

`What is it that maddened her so?` Wondered the caterpillar, `have I not asked a question just waiting to be asked, on the tip of the tongue of every person who fears to utter it?`

He wanted to continue to talk about how fearful and suppressing the world is, but he soon couldn’t stop his eyelids from getting heavier and heavier until, again, they closed. He sat there like a log, feeling nothing and thinking nothing, for being in the cocoon was very tiring, though he knew not why.

When he finally woke, he wanted to ask a question, but before he could express himself he noticed an opening in the cocoon, and he soon felt himself pushing out of it without thought, without knowing why.

He blinked, for he has not seen a light so bright for ages, and no matter how much his memory told him of it, it was nothing like experiencing it himself. He looked around for the first time since he wound a cocoon around himself. The sun! The sky! The flowers! The grass! It was so beautiful he couldn’t help crying from joy.

Then he noticed that he, too, has changed. He was now just as colorful and amazing as his surroundings were, for he was now a butterfly. He flew and flew through this dreamlike scenery, never tiring of it, until he was stopped by the sound of a small voice, coming from an ant hill below, asking feebly, “Why is it that the sun shines so bright?�

“Come here and you shall know,� said the butterfly, “come to the light and see.�

I challange you, O coward!
Now, do not run away.
It is our noble duty,
to fight for night and day.

I challange you, O coward!
Step forward with no freight.
This is not the time to cower,
This is the time to fight.

I challange you, O coward!
Now come, do what is right.
As I aim my blunt umbrella…
Are you sure you want to fight?