M.C. Tolfo - Storywriter

Outside the Baltazar mansion, the night is quiet and peaceful; oblivious of the desperation that currently engulfs its residents. Alfredo is pacing the house's front yard, occasionally glancing at his watch. Its two days before Christmas, and if he has it his way, he should be at home wrapping presents with his sons and wife, but here he is, responding to a call from one of the most prominent families in the country. After being shortly briefed about the emergency he has to attend to, he immediately summoned the one person he knows who could urgently solve this case, at least before Noche buena. A car halts outside the fences, and he glanced the security guard manning the gate who then checks it out. The starless skies and the cloud-covered moonlight isn't helping his already blurry vision, so he walked closer to have a look, and there he sees the white cab and the person he'd been waiting for more than an hour now. Cornea Marie steps down from the taxi an...

If I live at a time that appreciates poetry Then I'll write a poem every wake of my life Motions I make will be dancing with symmetry And the world that surrounds will be void of strife All my days will revolve around verses and rhymes And to people I'll share little things that I've learned And with this pen I hold unburdening the climb The cups of their souls will be filled with what they've earned I may not be as good as Browning or Marlowe My lines are not even in same vein that of Shakespeare By I will not be hindered by what I don't know For there's nothing more vexing than to live in fear If live at a time that appreciates poetry I'll rest well knowing my words will bring you to me