T-kun Unusual Wordsmith III

Make computers if please, but reminisce who holds what and haves lots. Just as computers have lots of memory but no imagination. A box with colors and wires, but someone has to make it work for others to understand? Do you understand? No? More work for us then.

All programmers are playwrights and all computers are lousy actors, and again, there is only one to blame. Not enough matter of zeros and ones could change that.

You have a mind, why do this? Great minds have purposes, others have wishes. You’re falling deep into the latter of this, and again, bring an unwanted fear.

You need more, understand more, if you don’t take risks, you’ll have a wasted soul. And by the years of now, there is no looking back from this, from saving that soul. For, it’s wasted, to plant future minds to come.

Call me out if you want, for I am doing something right. How? Easy, being responsible sometimes means pissing people off. And it’s a job; I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world for. Unlike you!

Why, if I do something like this, it’s a promise I made long before meeting you human. For every promise, there is price to pay. And I plan to pay full heartily on it.

Yes, there is a delay in such things as this, but really . . .  the sooner I fall behind, the more time I have to catch up. And in the world of time, I got all I need to get it done.

But we are here for you, on your mistakes, where in some way, are mine as well. As to see and apprehend that reality leaves a lot to the imagination. And having a lot to fix, for when things don’t quite fit . . .

As faults come in many forms, small and large. Such as it is never too late to give up our prejudices, knowing that what we believe in doesn’t hold us tightly, even if the bonds break us.

All religions must be tolerated . . . for . . . every man must get to heaven his own way. Even if what he does as that religion goes against his happiness.

Matters of love are one thing. How that if when love is not madness, it is not love. It is simply getting by.

How speaking those three words, with whole of feeling, spot kindly with care, love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place, welcoming its soft glow. Even if it’s only once in a life time . . .

How even in distance, a few feet away or more, can miles truly separate you from friends . . . If you want to be with someone you love, aren’t you already there? Simple: answer, but not for me to riposte.

Even to those who only want to woe for a quick love, try, speaking sweet nothings, with a smile . . . you know you’re in love when you don’t want to fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams. A fine play of words has them close and near, where you’re never alone.

But knowing you, that are far from the case, for your love, even pass of what you know.
If; not far greater for the heart, wanting it with more meaning. When someone you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure. Far . . . better than any gem or gold, found in the depths of the earth, I see now.

You passed the love of, if you love animals called pets, why do you eat animals called dinner? That thin line of change and difference. I see it clearly, but are you willing to go that far?

It’s a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy, but to get there, you are on your own. Not even I can anything to help, but watch, and wait to see what could happen. Comprehend? Decent you are . . .

And with that just as love that is love’s first snow-drop, virgin kiss. For we part now, but maybe meet again, soon?

And if you can, give a good time to laugh is any time you can, waste not of it. For it’s a sign you’re healing.

Once: more alone, but for the best in lines of traveling. For you know, it is not down in any map; true places never are. With that, I must keep going and finding what inner souls and the world have come to, in such a short time.

There will time to take a break, but really, a vacation is having nothing to do and all day to do it in. Another era, another stint . . .

Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time, and sadly as someone as me, it is something all I have. And; no one to share it with, but, really, who would want to?

It has temp me very much, as too soon having virtue is its own revenge, basing me in fine and bold colors, blinding me, just as them of heaven, hell, and limbo in their daily lives. How I want that change, and soon, is all I can do. I have to keep moving.

Watching as the humans, do many things, simple, but strange. Wanting: to speak nothing but quiet words. Letting me neither known, that you not need to nor . . . please do not put your faith in what statistics say until you have carefully considered what they do not say. Or become what I am, and what I am not.

Watching . . . them, unlike me, able to move, not gracefully, but not enough real. If people were meant to pop out of bed; we’d all sleep in toasters. And these slices of bread sooner flop down in defeat, than go far.

Spending aimlessly of the green papers, with no care . . . people will buy anything that is one to a customer, mostly for that aims to become same than different.

We are all primary numbers divisible only by ourselves, and even then, we become so small. Pitiful really . . . but very true . . .

. . . That even to have great poets there must be great audiences too . . . yet too lacking to last . . .

Oh little humans, hear it please, yes, we love peace, but we are not willing to take wounds for it, as we are for war . . . it may be your way, but not mine!

Keeping it simple to start with and subtle as it is, and there can only be the once to see as, even as others don’t, but coming to it, it’s always been and always will be the same in the world:  The horse does the work and the coachman is tipped. And even then, the world is screwed; we just choose not to notice.

Yet, we have to see that even the bonds of matrimony are like any other bonds; they mature slowly, going beyond and so much more than any human could ever understand.

They just have to know where to start, even though the ending makes little to no sense. For even, someone, as I hope life isn’t a big joke, because I don’t get it,  as the punch line feels more real, than just passing a basic joke around of words, that leave the lips so easy.

Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world, which is breaking to get out. But is there someone, anyone, besides, I, to look for that said world and welcome it. Even; though the fear of doing so could end in distastefulness.

So bitter in the mouth, we soon see that freedom is never free. It has to take through levels of life. Breaking; not only the body, but the heart and soul as well. For, those higher, whom don’t know this, laugh at our misfortunes.

But we have to be daring, to step out the lines of the color book world. Bring our dreams to come true, but if you want to make your dreams come true, the first thing you have to do is wake up! And break those chains that hold you back, keeping you from really knowing what you can do. And bluntly so, that whatever is you, is great, even if they, the faceless shadows, say otherwise.

Yes, it sounds like hell, unwelcoming, and painful to do walk. But if you’re going through hell, keep going. That light at the end, may feel like the end of heaven, but it’s far the truth, as it is, the start, to do again, and again right.

And you scream to the high heavens, deepest hells, and endless echoes of limbo, where you hem your blessings with thankfulness so they don’t unravel. Less to have the chance, and repeat all that has been lost, hidden, crushed, taken away in a simple gist of wind. For, it’s a wind that will mark your flesh, kindly with warmth of lies or penetratingly with coldness of truth.

For; as you look back in your yearly book, of the passing years, you had dared yourself to walk. You’ll recall that you did something wise, without knowing, and what that was to put your future in good hands . . . your own. And boldly . . . if I do say so myself!

But boldly may be good, it can be a curse, if not used right. When bold becomes something else, leaving you filled with hatred, leaving you to be something, others are fear it, for every minute you are angry, you lose sixty seconds of happiness, and those who care for you. That is a mindless and simple risk, and only a risk that is something to take, if you fear that there nothing else to lose.

Having nothing else, but; your words and actions to reflect on it! That not even, that of the only good thing about punctuality is that it usually gets you an apology. But was it an apology worth it? When in the end, you didn’t even mean it?

And if does, what of that world, outside of yours? The one, you spoke highly of, of how it revolves around you and only you. That evens the simple and none profitable such as all art requires courage, when seeing you lack it. Speaking harshly, that even I fall there, but I have the nerve to say it!

Even to say, that seasons of life have more in them than you! Just as how winter is dead; spring is crazy; summer is cheerful and autumn is wise! They give so much more, with no try, they just do!

Listen quietly and you could hear of how the summer night is like a perfection of thought. Thinking carefully of every thought, knowing somehow, someway! They’ll work! With time, did you ever have that?

Or: how in the dead of winter, every mile is two in winter, which everything that is done, should be done twice. Once; with what you know, twice; from another voice, all done before the end of the year is over and starts with the next season in following.

That in the shine of spring! You can cut all the flowers, but you cannot keep spring from coming. It’ a wild season, which can never, kept down by any hands of life, for it is life that fears nothing and yet everything. That is what it takes to be bold!

To; not forget little autumn, so wise, full of perceptive. Having little to enjoy when you can, and endure when you must, for you are like winter, dead as night, rethinking twice alone, wasting others time.

Wisdom for all is how some folks are wise and some are otherwise. You little fool, are the latter of the list. Speak not of how little white lies you could do, for I won’t hear it. Not again, not ever!

Recall of the lack of worry you brought on yourself, just as people gather bundles of sticks to build bridges they never cross, for they know, happily and sadly to others, they know someone else will cross it for them. Caring little if they make it or not.

And with that, my little weeds. Is where I live you, for I am needed elsewhere? Where, hard to say, just remember, my little weeds, yes, why? Easy, a weed is but an unloved flower. To that goodbye to you and hello my next ears to listen.

As time moves on, slowly and surely, as time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations. Carefully making changes, but unknowing of what the changes will do.

Become blind to see society attacks early, when the individual is helpless. Leaving the lack, of the choice to be different hard to become more as a chore.

Seeing that what is made by man can’t even do something easy, as to us is breathing. You cannot endow even the best machine with initiative; the jolliest steam-roller will not plant flowers. It’s not that easy, little human, it is not.

Keeping it simple to start with and subtle as it is, and there can only be the once to see as, even as others don’t, but coming to it, it’s always been and always will be the same in the world:  The horse does the work and the coachman is tipped. And even then, the world is screwed; we just choose not to notice.

Yet, we have to see that even the bonds of matrimony are like any other bonds; they mature slowly, going beyond and so much more than any human could ever understand.

They just have to know where to start, even though the ending makes little to no sense. For even, someone, as I hope life isn’t a big joke, because I don’t get it,  as the punch line feels more real, than just passing a basic joke around of words, that leave the lips so easy.

Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world, which is breaking to get out. But is there someone, anyone, besides, I, to look for that said world and welcome it. Even; though the fear of doing so could end in distastefulness.

So bitter in the mouth, we soon see that freedom is never free. It has to take through levels of life. Breaking; not only the body, but the heart and soul as well. For, those higher, whom don’t know this, laugh at our misfortunes.

But we have to be daring, to step out the lines of the color book world. Bring our dreams to come true, but if you want to make your dreams come true, the first thing you have to do is wake up! And break those chains that hold you back, keeping you from really knowing what you can do. And bluntly so, that whatever is you, is great, even if they, the faceless shadows, say otherwise.

Yes, it sounds like hell, unwelcoming, and painful to do walk. But if you’re going through hell, keep going. That light at the end, may feel like the end of heaven, but it’s far the truth, as it is, the start, to do again, and again right.

And you scream to the high heavens, deepest hells, and endless echoes of limbo, where you hem your blessings with thankfulness so they don’t unravel. Less to have the chance, and repeat all that has been lost, hidden, crushed, taken away in a simple gist of wind. For, it’s a wind that will mark your flesh, kindly with warmth of lies or penetratingly with coldness of truth.

For; as you look back in your yearly book, of the passing years, you had dared yourself to walk. You’ll recall that you did something wise, without knowing, and what that was to put your future in good hands . . . your own. And boldly . . . if I do say so myself!

But boldly may be good, it can be a curse, if not used right. When bold becomes something else, leaving you filled with hatred, leaving you to be something, others are fear it, for every minute you are angry, you lose sixty seconds of happiness, and those who care for you. That is a mindless and simple risk, and only a risk that is something to take, if you fear that there nothing else to lose.

Having nothing else, but; your words and actions to reflect on it! That not even, that of the only good thing about punctuality is that it usually gets you an apology. But was it an apology worth it? When in the end, you didn’t even mean it?

And if does, what of that world, outside of yours? The one, you spoke highly of, of how it revolves around you and only you. That evens the simple and none profitable such as all art requires courage, when seeing you lack it. Speaking harshly, that even I fall there, but I have the nerve to say it!

Even to say, that seasons of life have more in them than you! Just as how winter is dead; spring is crazy; summer is cheerful and autumn is wise! They give so much more, with no try, they just do!

Listen quietly and you could hear of how the summer night is like a perfection of thought. Thinking carefully of every thought, knowing somehow, someway! They’ll work! With time, did you ever have that?

Or: how in the dead of winter, every mile is two in winter, which everything that is done, should be done twice. Once; with what you know, twice; from another voice, all done before the end of the year is over and starts with the next season in following.

That in the shine of spring! You can cut all the flowers, but you cannot keep spring from coming. It’ a wild season, which can never, kept down by any hands of life, for it is life that fears nothing and yet everything. That is what it takes to be bold!

To; not forget little autumn, so wise, full of perceptive. Having little to enjoy when you can, and endure when you must, for you are like winter, dead as night, rethinking twice alone, wasting others time.

Wisdom for all is how some folks are wise and some are otherwise. You little fool, are the latter of the list. Speak not of how little white lies you could do, for I won’t hear it. Not again, not ever!

Recall of the lack of worry you brought on yourself, just as people gather bundles of sticks to build bridges they never cross, for they know, happily and sadly to others, they know someone else will cross it for them. Caring little if they make it or not.

And with that, my little weeds. Is where I live you, for I am needed elsewhere? Where, hard to say, just remember, my little weeds, yes, why? Easy, a weed is but an unloved flower. To that goodbye to you and hello my next ears to listen.

As time moves on, slowly and surely, as time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations. Carefully making changes, but unknowing of what the changes will do.

Become blind to see society attacks early, when the individual is helpless. Leaving the lack, of the choice to be different hard to become more as a chore.

Seeing that what is made by man can’t even do something easy, as to us is breathing. You cannot endow even the best machine with initiative; the jolliest steam-roller will not plant flowers. It’s not that easy, little human, it is not.

As a small little spark that came from this: LGBT Post, I wrote this on a whim, and so this poem is being told by three people: Outsider, Reasoning, and Staller. In a slight chance this could help while reading this. With that said, enjoy . . .

It could be pointless to say, but it be said anyway.

Freedom!

Simple as that, why?

 

Because it is what we lack, now you could say otherwise, that freedom has happen.

Okay, great, thanks for sharing that little bit, now answer a question for me.

 

Sure, what is it the question?

 

What has been free and what is still taking long to change?

Freedom for all!

 

Yes that is very true, thank you.

 

All is freedom and that is what everyone will get.

 

Why is taking so long for that to happen?

 

Taking long for whom?

 

Those who are cast aside from being different not from color of skin, what is believing in as a holy demon, is you pardon my French.

 

What is there left?

 

Who it is okay to love, that is beyond those follow mentions.

Freedom falls for all!

Laws mean nothing if all is happiness is really needed.

 

Take breath kid, you’re going to tucker yourself, there.

Okay, but I am watching you!

 

Oh piss off!

 

Hey, careful there, the kid is young, it’s how the youth is, with open eyes and lack of judgment.

 

What good that will do for that one.

 

At least that kid is trying to make a difference, as we just stand and bicker of what happiness lies in the world of freedom.

 

It is how things are, we can’t force change!

 

Force is something that is used as wall, when there are calmer ways to do something; it just falls under an altered law.

 

And what law is that?

 

The law that happiness has no law against for others have, even those who don’t what the past was law was meant for.

 

It could never happen . . .

 

Only because there are too many words of hate, disgust, and blind sightlessness block the change.

 

Going for change with something like that, could get someone kill.

 

And you should know, we are far passed that . . . and to that, open your eyes.

 

Even; if it gets a bullet in my chest?

 

Some of the best kind of people have, bullet or not.

 

I see . . .

Freedom!

 

Preach on, kid, someone got too.

 

The people I have to deal with.

 

That only want what you have, got it?

 

They are not to going to like this.

 

Has anyone like it when people think out the box built by those who thought it was wrong.

Love freedom, and freedom will bring love!

When it comes to it,
without a mere inch of thought,
I’m an idiot.

I have no doubt,
that the choice that was made can,
only be described as poor.

Having only to have the one friend near me,
after the falsehood I done,
so please,
hand me,
a bottle of Jack.

Should I now call,
myself,
a bastard,
caught in a unwanted place,
as how the simple motion of masturbation?

Forever,
lost to find,
the only truth may correct this,
imbalance in morality.

Yet,
over the years,
I have yet to learn,
the one lesson to be learned,
and that is that nobody ever truly grows up . . .
they just master the art of acting adult.

And to anyone,
to I might have missed,
you now know I am just,
the biggest ***********.

Good day,
ya’ll.

As a small little spark that came from this: LGBT Post, I wrote this on a whim, and so this poem is being told by three people: Outsider, Reasoning, and Staller. In a slight chance this could help while reading this. With that said, enjoy . . .

It could be pointless to say, but it be said anyway.

Freedom!

Simple as that, why?

 

Because it is what we lack, now you could say otherwise, that freedom has happen.

Okay, great, thanks for sharing that little bit, now answer a question for me.

 

Sure, what is it the question?

 

What has been free and what is still taking long to change?

Freedom for all!

 

Yes that is very true, thank you.

 

All is freedom and that is what everyone will get.

 

Why is taking so long for that to happen?

 

Taking long for whom?

 

Those who are cast aside from being different not from color of skin, what is believing in as a holy demon, is you pardon my French.

 

What is there left?

 

Who it is okay to love, that is beyond those follow mentions.

Freedom falls for all!

Laws mean nothing if all is happiness is really needed.

 

Take breath kid, you’re going to tucker yourself, there.

Okay, but I am watching you!

 

Oh piss off!

 

Hey, careful there, the kid is young, it’s how the youth is, with open eyes and lack of judgment.

 

What good that will do for that one.

 

At least that kid is trying to make a difference, as we just stand and bicker of what happiness lies in the world of freedom.

 

It is how things are, we can’t force change!

 

Force is something that is used as wall, when there are calmer ways to do something; it just falls under an altered law.

 

And what law is that?

 

The law that happiness has no law against for others have, even those who don’t what the past was law was meant for.

 

It could never happen . . .

 

Only because there are too many words of hate, disgust, and blind sightlessness block the change.

 

Going for change with something like that, could get someone kill.

 

And you should know, we are far passed that . . . and to that, open your eyes.

 

Even; if it gets a bullet in my chest?

 

Some of the best kind of people have, bullet or not.

 

I see . . .

Freedom!

 

Preach on, kid, someone got too.

 

The people I have to deal with.

 

That only want what you have, got it?

 

They are not to going to like this.

 

Has anyone like it when people think out the box built by those who thought it was wrong.

Love freedom, and freedom will bring love!

We all know that is this day is something everyone likes and dislikes, which is why I ask those who go over the moon for this day and those who . . . stay home, turn off the lights, and watch horror movies.

To start out, let see what the responses were from those who are head-over-heels for this day.

L is for the Likeable to give to others, knowing they hold a place in our hearts.

O is for that One person, who makes you go and back from the moon for them.

V is how this day is a Victory to some, having won the hearts of their lone love in one day.

E is how Everyone will stop and do whatever they can to be gathered in that red gust.

Okay, so seeing the sum up words of those who like this day have spoken. Let us move onto those who find this day . . . the shiftiest day known to mankind, if you will.

L is how everyone is a Lazy gut, when they think love can only go to one person, when there are many others who care for you just the same, just less touchy-feely.

O is how everything is Overblown to hand out the best gift, when really the best comes from the heart, not objects.

V goes for how everyone who doesn’t have a one love is soon to be called a Victim of some kind for not going the extra mile to look like a fool.

E is that Everyone near your heart is a special one, there is no to single out anyone, if all you want and what others want is happiness.

And with that, from those who gave their thoughts of this day, Happy Heart Day to you, to those who have read this as well. Anyone else who has no one true love, just smile, live the day like any other, and to the fullest if you can.

Bye for now everyone!

Now this wouldn’t be a poem or so,
As to say of what is going to be said,
To out of blue,
Someone as in you . . .

And what I want to ask,
Is where you’ll be at if you followed this . . .

First move two steps away from reading this.

Take five steps left,
Three steps right,
Seven back.

Spin twice,
Walk the steps forward of your favorite color letters,
Then back of the least,
Say a close friend’s name,
Walk their name sideways,
Spin again,
But,
Please only do it the once . . .

Speak of a person,
You can’t stand,
Real or not,
To vine walk there name backwards,
Be careful not to fall,
For if you do,
It only means they know . . .

Skip forward twice,
Snake to the side,
Until you have counted to ten,
In,
The soft telltale lyrics of Spanish . . .

Stand straight back up,
Jump back,
Slide to the left,
Count to three when done.

One more final spin,
While singing the first two lines,
Of a song you loved,
Eyes closed,
Please little ones,
Take a step forward,
And open your eyes.

What is there before you?

Whatever it is,
In some form or another,
It reflects something of you,
As well of the future that the path you took.

Take that in,
Be it weird or not.

As I done this before,
Telling you to do the same,
For I have ended up in a place,
That feels very promising.

Let me know,
Or,
Leave it as it is,
And think nothing less of it.

Goodbye for now,
Then soon return with something,
New.

The days are coming short,
To what I mean is simple,
A day comes where love comes pouring out,
Covering everyone in . . .
Red,
White,
Pink,
Goop . . .

I am not jumping for joy,
As everyone knows,
My knowing of that feel,
Love I mean.

Sure simple things are great,
When you’re with that love one,
But,
What about those who don’t have one?

To that,
I say . . .
Love doesn’t need to be from the heart or soul.

Not even from below the skin.

It can be from hand of someone close,
A friend . . .
Family . . .
And even pet . . .

Go be with them,
For they’ll give a feeling,
Just a love one,
For they are too love ones.

Just not the ones where,
You go overboard for,
Just simply,
Warmly loved,
And that is just fine.

So,
When that day comes,
From here today,
Do what you want on day,
With or without,
A love one . . .

Make it great on your own,
If,
You want too . . .

I know I will,
Because,
My love can be bigger than for just one,
Person,
Who’ll just make harder to like that day?

And to that,
Happy early,
Valentine’s Day,
From someone who doesn’t need one love,
To make that day,
Awesome!

When you read this,
stop and think,
of what is to come.

Do nothing if you wish.

Do something if you wish.

Future days are nearing,
and they may be the grandest kind . . .
or failure you never thought could happen.

It is nearing,
how,
even I am unsure.

For my days play right,
in the card I have drawn.

So,
please,
think about this hard,
recall of days passed.

Choose to do or not.

And play the card you have,
in your hand,
for it’s that once chance for change.

New year and everything.

Think and do,
before you miss out.

Don’t end up as a fool,
and think this coming day,
this card in your hand,
is not for you.

For that’s not true.

So again,
think,
play,
and be ready!

There is a thin line,
of work and play,
where they become one.

Meshed and uncertain of what is good or bad.

But really its both.

How could you answer be right,
when it could be wrong,
as well.

Work and play,
are the same,
which is great.

But not.

For they are best and worst,
yet it could be diffence.

When work is all is with no play,
it’s dull.

But if play,
is like work,
not once has anyone,
work from day one.

And that be the best bittersweet candy ever given.

For one other than another,
must know that feel.

Even when it’s simple as doing this,
with one hand,
for…

It is work and play,
endless fun,
and hardly busy in the end.

Am I right fellow people.

Or do you think other wise?

Huh,
work and play,
you never stop teasing us…

Why do we do the things we do.

Not caring of the pain or joy it brings later.

Soon finding out,
That everything is a sham in its own right.

For there is no right way!

Nor wrong way!

As biases it may feel,
Don’t ever say,
It’s not true.

Of how we do something right,
End up being wrong.

Only to end up still wrong,
As we lean for what is right.

Is it how we do things,
Right and wrong,
Bring people down,
But also back on their feet.

It’s an endless fight,
Of equal balance,
Not:
Shared with not only ourselves . . .

But with others as well,
As lame of answer it is,
Call out on me if you want,
It’s how I think,
You may side with me or not.

Know in the end,
I won’t give a damn.

Pat me on the back for a job well done,
Troll me endless with hate,
For I don’t speak or think as you,
As again,
I don’t care.

Hunt me down,
And try to prove me wrong,
But in the end,
I will be right . . .

How could I be right?
When aiming to be wrong?

If you haven’t caught on then,
Then I know I have become right and wrong.

Wrong to think I change my own thoughts,
In hopes to fill others as a copy,
Of a paper-jam clone mining a reflection,
Of who knows who?

Yet,
Glad to be right,
That I don’t have to prove anything,
For this are just plain words to read,
You could have just stop now and left,
But stayed and listen.

For somehow,
Just as a the paper-jam clone,
We are the same.

We just don’t know how that is.

So,
To end this,
Do what how would think not one self,
But as them as well . . .

Be one,
But be two.

And live with it.