“A Poem”

A freshly picked rose on the brink of death

First yawn, morning breath

Nothing from no

Things add up to stuff


Remembrance has found a home

Sleep is a restless memory while you’re awake

Stoop low and lift my spirit

The forest has claimed my root

The sun has burned my innocence


I leave nothing but

Half-open eye lids

Crossed legs

And dreams that cannot be awakened

©️Sierra Leone