Biography of Francis Tikava
21 year old student.
Francis Tikava Poems
A Canvas In Retrospect
Away from me now! Away! I cannot feed you, clothe you or care for you, Your stolid nature and frail frame depress me.
Washed Up Tablecloth
My single purpose has come to an end, And yet I continue to work. My tattered wrinkled self intends, To finish free of murk.
I live, In a fantasy, Surrounded by pigs, Entranced in sloth,
Countless crows careen in rows, Seemingly seamlessly. Taking care to fix their glare, Briefly but boldly.
You're just mundane parrot that's changing colours, And you're given a podium because you're wearing a suit. There's an infinitely tentacled octopus above you,
For Every Moment I Am Yours
For every fight and every tear Every time I fail to steer Moment passes like a day I need to know you heard me say
Preist Or A Runner
I was told to exercise, To feel my Pythagoras grow. Or maybe it was exorcise,
I predict, That when you meet your end, You'll wish you'd spent more time in jest. I predict,
Eight Legged Messiah
I am not a widow, Nor was I born of one, But still, I look around and feel like something's absent.
That when you meet your end,
You'll wish you'd spent more time in jest.
That before you're buried deep,
You'll know that you didn't do your best.
That as a lamb chopped sheep,
You'll claim you left before your time.