Edzel Frince Bual Poems

hope is such a silly thing
we, oh, hold so dear,
like newborn babies.
we look at them grow.
...

can't we eat our own hypocrisy
and, together, suffer from poverty
and hunger for more irony,
more delusions,
...

I.
beneath the temple is a pulse,
each throb louder than the last beat;
a symphony like how Danse Macabre goes
...

I dream of having an electric mixer
so I can beat my eggs until they're stiff peak
and I can finally make soufflé pancakes.
...

there are times when
my pens run out of ink
and I don't have refills.
that's when I feel the guilt.
...