THIS TOOK SO LONG
Maker sees and crafts his things
They give the things they make design
and so as they finish, they start anew
Making things with no breaks
Weaver makes her strung things bright
She bobs the needle for colors true
Up and down again, vibrance, the yarn tying
For her picture is fully tight.
Creator watches his art run.
he ponders over what he's made
He's what?
Over pondering, he runs
Art his watches creation.
Tightly full, is picturesque
She’s for ty
When somebody asks if I'm feeling okay
I say that I'm tired, and that's all that I say
But tired is not what I actually feel
I cover those feelings, which are actually real.
T
The Trials that drive me insane
The Turmoil that always comes with disdain.
The Terrible Thoughts that I keep in my brain
The Trifles I suffer I just can't maintain
I
The Inevitable failure to which I abide
The Invisible feeling I feel deep inside.
The Internal th
Finally had the guts to write this.
*sighs*
Uhhhhhh no title yet.
I used to think I had motives for good.
And yet I never see things through.
I always try, to do what I should.
But my failure always starts anew
I think myself righteous, a helping hand
But I end up taking more than I give
I've always tried to do what's planned
And yet, I feel like I always need them to forgive
I feel as if understanding is only a dream
When one opens a notebook.
To a fresh, blank sheet.
When they have a sole outlook
Of what they plan to complete.
Each new line, each new page.
Is a creation, an endeavor.
It can wither, It can age,
But the intent is forever.
A writing, a drawing
Or just a reminder.
Is the maker's new calling.
That is left to the finder.
And though the page may rip,
And though the ink may smudge
And though the book may be lost.
And though
So
Umm..
If I
Had to count
In a simple way
Like “one two three” and up by one
I’d look for another version, an upwards fashion.
I would sacrifice my rhyme patterns, it would all clash and burn, a disaster of words
One more step in the Fibonacci sequence would not fit on one line, but yet I go on, to twenty one plus thirteen, but now I will descend.
Now back down to seven times three, and falling down the sequence fast, I count down again
A prime number, two digits,
A poem with a 10-word vocabulary:
That jumble of words, in a sense, for my minding.
Of minding my words, in a jumble, that for sense.
For sense my jumble, that. In words: a minding of.
Sense of my words? In that, for a minding jumble.
For jumble my words of a minding, in that sense.
….
….
A wordy mind. In the jumble. For senses of myself.
A poem with a 7 word vocabulary:
People used small terms, with a cost.
Terms: used. With a small cost. A people.
Small people used te
This
Poem
Gets longer
With each new line
Syllables increase
Like the taste of old wine
And yet it still follows pace
As if the words are in a race
And though the rhyme scheme is quite broken
We have now made it to line number ten
And yet I am still going, again and then-
Until I must go -wait- back down again?
The second time we have gone with nine
Now it’s eight- and we still decline
Lucky number seven’s mine
Six is here- as a line
Five is with new rhyme
Four-
