T-kun Unusual Wordsmith III

Long await of the skin.
Smooth but cover with the past.
Worlds of time have soaked in.
And shows this won’t the last.

Live in peace.
Tied together tightly by weak lace.

Rippling as the waters of trouble come.
Faster by in some.
Hovering within eye sight wove.
Not that is called love.

Again once seen as truth.
Much to that of thatwell-known booth.

So come and see.
Live what it takes to be.

As it can all end in a flash.

What is the right choices to do something; of one’s own free will, and live in peace.
Could it be done, with no worries of the dangers; when the dangers are you?
Or would it be just a simple mind play; warping one to be something of fear, and the fear is you.
Could it happen, at a snap of a finger; and everything is gone.

If it happens, one could say it does; with no worries.
But the worries happen, quickly as change; change is fear.
A fear that is welcome; just as needs and wants, and be done as do’s and don’ts.

There are the moments of the ones who lack of this, willingly; and that of the dumb.
Those who lack, fear change for another reason; a reason some care little of.

But care is needed, fear is a pal; change is a start of something good to come.

Could it happen; if anything at all; or live forever in the past?
When its the future all want, need of peace; never forgetting what change could do.

Am I the only who thinks this, alone; and knowing how it end with more power of whole?

To what of short life can be,
Lasting in what feels what only seconds,
Others hours,
Maybe weeks to months to years.

It ticks away at us,
Leaving matter of moments to share what is needed.

In hours of this,
Wasting breath of petty words,
Is a sign that one wants the lime light.

In others eyes,
They just want to be heard for what they have to say,
With no fear that there can be more than one voice,
For others.

The voices range vastly for that,
Be them of well known voices,
Or the little mice squeak of white noise.

It’s a voice that wants to be heard.

Shutting them out of those of lower stats,
Changes little of doing so,
For everyone has a voice,
Keeping them still,
Will make them louder.

The voice comes from many,
Even when few of heard,
For the lack of the pop vote.

Everyone has a voice.

Be them screamers or whimpers.

It only takes one to lend an ear,
One lone ear,
To know someone is hearing.

A double ending sword it is,
For whatever the words may be,
That leave the lips of any voice.

But that is why the skin has become,
Tougher over the years,
Handling whatever the voices may say.

Even if the only voice others are going to listen,
Is oneself’s voice.

Nothing seems to be going right,
I thought taking a break would fix everything,
But no,
That’s not the case.

Not this time.

I’m tired to say the least,
Body is taking longer to reply to things,
Speak seems to only enter in huffs and one words.

Saying to be alone,
doesn’t have the answers,
Nor looking for a helping hand.

But I am missing people.

Near and far.

I just have no idea what to do,
How to handle it when coming to it.

I want to cry,
But there seems to be no tears to shed.

Nor will the pain lessing for the sake,
a peaceful mind.

Alone,
Is something I don’t want to be,
Not anymore.

Even gone for awhile,
To get back to at least sitting up,
Close to standing.

Do I have still the people I have come to known,
As family,
Still care?

In time,
I guess I’ll know,
But it will take time on my half,
To catch up on being the same as them again.

Gone and back,
Lost right now in a froggy mind,
And keys that let me write.

Right now,
I feel the need of hug.

Anyone have a small offer to grant that?

There is something wrong, I don’t know what it is.

It slows everything down.
Shuts me out,
Stops and deletes everything before it can be saved.

It happens out of the blue,
Or in the mid of work.

The unsureness of able to stay on,
Is slowly becoming a question,
If I will be able.

No one is listening,
Understands the damage that can be done,
If not taken of.

What is to be shock about,
It’s seems to only to matter,
If it bothers them,
And laugh when happening to me.

Dumb as it is to speak of it,
Everything could be shot off,
Nor will anything be added,
For the troubles.

It’s just a problem,
A simple problem,
That cost,
Takes time,
And sadly anger some.

A problem it is,
And I a problem I have to deal with.

What overblown joy that is!

Within the woods; within the timber, the wolves will howl.
Into the night as they stalk the lands; freely as it is there home.
Come by there is of thy lonely wander; foolishly walking.
Come see, the final act; blink once and one will miss thy.

Corner up surrounded by the sky rims; once more caring of following senses, leaving little to be unseen.
Care little of what’s to come; foolish one dare to tread off a path, not near fit for thy.
Into the woods of night; feasting on the dumb wander.

Who dare think past is forgotten; future means all; and what leads for now . . .
Is for one own judgment day.
And a day not soon for lead unease for any; besides thy!

But hark the follow moon; a shallow mourn of morn; as her pestering brother comes.
Blinding the beasts; lack that of hungry will not be given, for soon another night will come!

Wander be thankful of this sudden chance of life; as does heavens seen no other, to come.
Thy linger eye, will watch as I; will end ye little wander of a broken path.

As that path was made for only one; dare not leave it, no other can have it.
As the wolves know; when feasting for kings, on those daring for familiar . . .
It’s not fit; for one wander nor many.

So hear it the distrusting larks; of the world of similar, and feel nothing of diffs.
For soon seen; harking the ears; blistering the skins; bitter the mouth of diffs.

One path was made for ay; follow not, nor lead not, travel alone.
And soon the feel of diffs will come in understanding.

Nor will the wolves hunt on those; come sinking teeth, on a poor fool.
Who only wanted what everyone else had.

Thy life will come; wait is needed; along with lone and diffs as well.

They came as quick as the thunder claps, coming in without a sign of welcome on their part. Clouds on the once settling dusty ground rose and whipped wildly as they came. Bolts of metal popped louder and louder, from their pistols.

Mixture of cries filled the dusty air, some were in fear of being caught in the crossfire, some in anger toward to those who shot for fun and pleasure, some of the screams came from those started this.

Howls of pure delight carried from them. The trotting of their horses covered their tracks, as they rushed into the heart of the town. Raging excitedly and inaccurately through the hotel, passing areas that of the bar, scaring up the drunks, showgirls, and owners, as to show they meant to come more than just business. Few stayed behind, mostly to rile-up the dancers for their deeds.

The fainted looks of fear, disgust, and anger only excited the riders more. As others batten the gambles for their cash in hopes to live, wanting little of any spare cash from the passer goes of the small town, owners safes. A few more the riders stayed outside, pure maniacs they were, doing whatever they pleased.

With the jostle within the hotel, leak slowly of cards, drinks, maybe a cloth of clothing or two, each of the riders making sure none didn’t have any more fun than another.

A light of curse ranged from of the riders, in mild pettiness as one his comrades shot his horse in the mess they made, it was no matter, and this town had plenty to give in a last minute hiccup on their part, for who would go against them.

They felt unstoppable.

With the setting lights of the falling sun, it near time to go, as the sky faded from a powder blue to colors of what the chaos they had done to the down, with rivers of red trailing down some of the bodies, purple matching the bruises on the showgirls once smooth skins, brown of the broken glass of finest whisker this side of the west, barren greens that match their ravenousness and bitterness, faint yellow that shy awaken from the golden finds from their slowly growing cargo.

By time the town fully understood what happen to their once peaceful town, the bandit riders would already near the mountains, forgetting the damage they had done, leaving the barely steading town back into the ground, much sooner than any citizen was thinking was going to happen.

The townspeople watch as they came in without knocking, looting and destroy just as quick, and by a blink of an eye or a subtle cry of lost, they were gone.

In Without Knocking by Charles Russell

Made in the year; 1909

Location when painted; unknown, but the scene itself took place in Old Stanford, Montana.

The beauty and simplest of it, is one the finest things of it being the most loved. Softness of the silk ran smoothly and airless against the milky skin, how the hues of the grass and rivers echo through it, as it shifted shades through the lights.

The wearer could only smile more, knowing it was hers to own, having her sunburn set hair crowned around her head, bonded by a pale yellow ribbon, a gift from a neighbor, as a sign of welcome, forming it close to the Queen’s crown, for that’s how the dress made her feel.

Mind wandering, far from ripen slums that rested outside her smug window, as too it was what life really was, doesn’t mean it should run her life, forever.

Nimble fingers, one lone finger weighed down from a promise that would never come, as it golden coat shined now and then into her eyes, but went on, patching the smallest holes, as the skilled master she had come to be in the waning years of life, filling it more of obtuse age. Paralleling to what the bear walls and floor of her small apartment was, spider crack mirror, wagered and brought from a pawn shop.

Little objects of her own, scattered here and there, but this place was hers, as was the dress, the one piece of gold of her past, healed and ready for her future. Even her little feline of partner couldn’t a agree more, as the flush of fur, nudged against its master, purring softly when the silk rippled across its nose, in a form of understanding.

Oh, if her family was still around, they would be thrilled to know how far she had gotten, staying true to her roots, making something of herself, even if it was small, such as a dress made and patched by her hands. But it was hers alone.

And she was going to make something of it. Even in the depths of the slums of the city, she now called home, but never a place for her heart.

The Green Dress by John White Alexander

Made in between the years of 1890-1899

Location when painted; Varies through areas in Paris

We seem to have always fallen into this,
One way or another,
It happens.

We,
Humans,
If some wish to calls us that,
Are label in life.

Label as what depends on you,
And the giver,
Be for you.

Label is very stretch for something as person is,
Do what others wouldn’t do?
Be something that wasn’t normal is other eyes.

In this day and age,
Where the matters of changing have happen differ,
How so?

Ask those of the following:

Weirdo . . .
Nerd . . .
Prep . . .
Jock Head . . .
Freak . . .
Nobody . . .
Goth . . .
Fatty . . .
Toothpick . . .
Know-it-all . . .
Troll . . .
Gay . . .
Sinner . . .
Baby Killer . . .

Many more fall under that,
Some even in a langue we might not speak,
Nor care to understand,
For it’s not a problem,
And need no reason to make ours.

Labels may come in a racial term,
Base alone on what your skin may be,
It leads to no one is safe to picked,
No matter if others say,
That you have nothing to fear,
You’re nothing like them.

I hate to say it,
Is calmest fashion?
But you’re sadly . . .

WRONG!

You can do whatever you can,
To somehow change that label you were grace with,
But will always follow you.

Be slim or pig out if wish to,
Be smart or dumb,
Be good at something or nothing at all,
Be the one to where one color or all of the fucking rainbow,
Be the one to love something that is as you or not at all.

Labels are labels,
They are here to comb out the herds,
Of who is ever seen as weak and strong?

And as we know,
Those with the money,
Power,
Command,
And sadly seen as less human,
Get the final say.

As those who are normal,
Break away from those who are abnormal.

And through the years,
To now,
The abnormal rate as grown,
Being where this label at first was a thing as evil,
But in the end,
Something that has made ecosphere a little bit better,
For those who are seen as normal,
Are always most gone,
And the abnormal is growing.

For as long there are these labels go on,
Normal will die,
And they must know,
For how hard their going to make the abnormal,
Part of the world once more,
When before,
It was nothing but a dream.

And a dream it still is,
But a dream that is nice to have.

And as the labels keeping changing,
Fixing what was once seen different,
Will change into a common thing,
In time yes.

And in that time,
Labels will be carry proudly on one’s back,
For they define one person,
For good or bad,
But it takes away from is normal,
Making the abnormal stronger.

Abnormal is becoming pop culture today,
And normal is being a memory,
That everyone wants to forget.

Odd how a long ago a plan for change,
Backfires,
And for the best that this world needs,
Don’t you think?

Now all we need to do,
Is work on the things such as class?

And we might get something in this world.

But again,
It’s a dream.

Hush now and be amazed,
To what is to be seen.
Open the mind,
Jump the body,
Speak freely if needed.
In the tramples of life,
It is needed,
In a form like so to be form!
As to again hush,
Hush so,
Leave logic a few steps behind,
And have the imitation be the mind,
For once!
Hush,
Hush,
Break free,
Hush oh-so hush,
Logic can only get so far.
As illogical things,
Are a must today.
So hush.
Not so hard,
Close the words of logic,
Open the words of freedom.
One just needs to shut up,
Listen,
And know there is more than,
Just logic.

S is how they are Silent they are, for they wish not to add fuel to a fire of lies.

L is for that they really want true Love, but thanks to common ways of life, it’s becomes harder to find.

U goes for how Injustice is becomes for that if one does that one bend, they’ll will for the right price.

T has to be the Truth will only be heard from one mouth, not a herd, for there is only one answer.

In silent this voice lied,
Unable to speak,
Unable to know what oath of a path to take,
I now know.
As where that saying,
That was cared and loved in a society,
Of dead bards,
Awoke of why and what I am.
Where I go,
How that’s to come,
Is still mysterious,
But that’s what makes it thrilling.
As they too seize the day,
The day is more than that.
For that,
In a finally moment of eloquent,
I will not only seize the day,
But life,
My life,
As the oath is vocalized in disputes,
Only I know and declare greatly of.
Even though they are just written,
It’s the closest to stone one is to come,
For it make fade,
That lingering feeling deep within the minds,
Will forever be there and gladly be.
As again,
To seize the day is one thing,
But seizing life is a far bigger venture.
And one that will be grasped,
Pulled near,
Loved,
And used to what it is needed to be,
My life!