Things do not happen. Things are made to happen.

-John F. Kennedy

    Experiences in this life are made with various moments of fearful challenges, funny mistakes, and depressing celebrations. This is similar to the ones I thought I knew as I was growing up. For instance, I only knew two seasons- rainy and sunny. As I moved to learn more, and see outside of my tiny world, reality changed into an unimaginable size.

   If it is the dry season from late March to May in this tropical country that I live in, there is spring in a lot of other places around the globe. It is such a beautiful idea to keep. The warm kiss of the sun on my skin, and the full blossom of flowers in the eyes of another, until the rain comes, longer and stronger in the coming months. Then there is only the cold, damp, and heavy winds tearing the roofs apart. The seasons move fast, unexpected. Just like the life that I see, feel, and breathe.

   The rise and sleep of the sun become regular scenes that enchant my being. Then I learn that in some parts of the world, people see the glorious sun even beyond the night time. This idea brought me to the creation of sharing my own marvelous dream of finally watching and being with the Midnight Sun through this writing. 

   Later did I realize that I got fascinated with the dark yet touching words of science fiction, crime shows, supernatural, and a little disturbing effect of dark poetry. Just like the mystery of being with the Midnight Sun on the other side of the world, though it made me feel better, it was scary for others. I hope to share some of those moving thoughts that breathed life through my poems.

    
   There wouldn't be an assurance that readers would find the same excitement as I once did, but I wish that each one enjoys the company, and at least feel a little bit connected to the words. May it be good or bad, let me begin the Dance with the Midnight Sun.

Tight hug and long kisses,

JM Salgado

Smile, stretch the muscles for as long as it can
Before every move leads to a heart break
As the muscles fall down slowly
Clench the palm of the hand to keep the heat
Hold back the tears,

Breaking voice in between
Keep the anger within

No break in between doesn’t make John a dull boy

No break in between makes John jump to a pit and fall

Endless screams in his head, no quiet wonder

Pity, sucks the life within

I have to go away

To keep myself safe

—

Live for today, it's not enough

I have to leave for the rest of my life

—

Hold back these emotions

I have to let go

Hold back the tears

This is the hardest part to keep

What other means there is?

Tears fall, fail

Others I can’t keep, 

Stretching my limits

Carrying me away from my being

Each time the pen moves along the lines
Thoughts start spreading all around
Wetting the paper with black lies
Saving the writer some space to sign

Inspiration comes and flees

Running, scampering most of the times

It isn't generous or even kind

To wait and let the writer decide

Great words and beautiful scenery

Explored by the mind and told by the pen

Mistakes are there but only for a while

The red marks would bleed and save the life

But once the story is told

People won't believe at first

 Unknown names, unsure endings

Readers can't waste their precious time

So at first these would find company with flies

Moving around and spitting some fire

Along the spider-web filled room

Until a brave hand comes and looks

When readers grow old of the trend

They try to go and search elsewhere

Inspiration or reflection similar to theirs

And find home with some books at hand

The stories would be read and re-read

Maybe beyond the writer's waking days

But people would remember, somehow

They would continue to feel and read

Hopefully once the forgotten is known

It must not be in another false name

Trying to fix and fill the lines

Of an empty paper, waiting to die