Every time I butter toast
I think of you
And that morning
In the college canteen
When you taught me
Your secret method
To soften the fridge-cold
Foil wrapped butter tabs
By leaving them under those
Cheap leaky-spout teapots
For a few seconds.
I melted too but
Never told you.
-Job
Oh, those new
divine ones
Bored of the world
They give birth to
destruction
Their lives a silent art.
They laugh at death
That single
final
end
And barricade their world.
Burn as bright suns
till the end of day
Living,
Dying,
not recording,
each his own Schrödinger
breaking bones against a blood sky
Never allowing compromise.
They refuse the world
And it’s comforting
photographs.
– Job
Violent words hide their inner abyss.
-Job
Tom’s young body is long forgotten.
-Job
Tom was wise, even at nineteen.
-Job
Running from the guards
You cried out ‘help’ to your friend
But he didn’t stop.
-Job
Understanding ourselves and the world we live in.
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
Experiments in the Art of Mastering None
Rhymes and Reasons
Vibe alone for a while
builds stuff
Aspiring to be the best at writing. Poetry lover, haiku and free verse to be precise, I hope to one day master
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
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Dabbles in writing, loves music and nature. Sierra Leonean
Philosophy Professor & Philosophical Counselor - Dr. Elly Pirocacos
Stories of Adventure & Friendship
