Olabode Joseph Oluwatayo
Biography of Olabode Joseph Oluwatayo
A undergraduate Student of Architecture, with a deep interest for poetry, game OF CHESS, research development, animations/computer graphics, General Studies and of course ARCHITECTURE!
Olabode Joseph Oluwatayo's Works:
Olabode Joseph Oluwatayo Poems
To Live In Pencil Lines
To live in pencil lines, As if drifting along the path of an arrow, Creating boundaries; where lines should go, Are lines not dots moving in a particular flow?
Sleep always long to take my breath away, But promises never to trouble any man's good rest, A dreamland with vision faraway, A giver and angel of a renewed breath,
Maybe just a little push, Perhaps a little more effort, Or a little bit of the time, That little word for my memory.
Time with you was worthwhile, Happiness the virtue that dearly drives, Let those moment wets your seething thirst, Before it eventually becomes your dried past,
Laid in pools of his living blood, as his heart sobs close to death, liquor's swift judgement to death, while travelling in the rainy flood.
A flower that grew so high, The brightest colour of a favoured bride, Walking on marbles, the ceiling is sky, Spreading its petals with a magnificient pride,
When our life is measured in years, telling us the end may be near. As what we dearly esteem, fades away as time incessantly wears.
They are all; we are not, A birthmark, we price not, Always not; but lies on delivery beds, Meteors of bright skies thier heads,
Throes Of Great Emotions
Uncommon feeling of the night, heart for a loved woman is it? Who could struggle against such feelings? or fight such seething emotions?
Life was trashing to an end, to be laid eternally dead, but your abounding grace delivered, like a huge caravan from a gushing flood.
To write; I should read, To walk, I should crawl, To speak; I should babble, To run; I should walk,
Only if i was that man. whose words are trails of unknown wisdom, or could i be that god, full of charm, beauty and wealth,
If not that the Sun shines, and it shines so scorchingly, and; the Moon who is quite shy and soft, also the cloud that may darken the day,
Till Tommorrow Comes
With dream eggs to lay, After a seemingly long day, In the shinning Sun, I made hay, Just; gains for the morrow,
Maybe just a little push,
Perhaps a little more effort,
Or a little bit of the time,
That little word for my memory.
Wonders how little may be defined,
Will it be the whole without a little?
Remember little ticks make the time,
Little diggins becomes the mine,
Moreover just a little more dime,