A cute little story.

For whats its worth,
Looking around.
Passing time,
avoiding my girth.

Thought I’d write a story not a rhyme.

This one will go as follows,
of all the twenty six dice did swallows.
They ate their position,
with blood on their hands.
Positioned quite cleverly,
like only gods can.

But is the this day,
that this little boy.
Turn fifty five years old,

On any other day,
He’d either be sold.
Or a thorn in the side,
or a face to be scold.

So back to basic,
its been said.
The first programming language,
that he happened to had.

He’d cut his teeth,
on an old apple mac.
The school provided,
less popular than math.

But he managed to learn,
pixels and sprites.
Printing and echo’s,
to thicken their plights.

Using adventures,
to cancel each plot.
He’d always make a point,
of finishing each lot.

So then his sold,
that this is the way.
Not heading to the library,
When its here we can play.

Its faster than chalk,
better than abacas.
Its lights up the room,
like an omnipresent fortuitous.

They danced and sung,
the programs they rung.
But the spelling inside,
was lacking universal pride.

Its was US encoded,
or British inzide.
The deregulated environment,
was a testament to be deriled.

Down here we say it,
just like that.
Deraileds for brits,
whining pack of thacks.

So that’s where we come from,
this language and dialect.
Stolen from everyone,
occulted in the act.

So when this boy,
bounced on back,
Got his set up,
to help straighten his rack.

Saw his foibles,
listened for weeps.
Had his first incarnation,
that lasted for weeks.

Now I’ve noticed,
with the epi D N A.
The uni trav neg nat tion.
Ton ten tubs of tea tor tray.

Nothing to big,
nothing to bold,
Just helping each other,
To avoid showing old.

Not hiding it with Botox,
or painting it out.
A real fix provided,
rather than inside out.

clearing those toxin,
showing their pain.
Proving the tears,
Where theirs blockages refrained.

Its always happens,
When the guards are down,
ringing it might.

Its shivers and shaken.
Charmed and royal.
Words wont describe,
these feelings of hell.

But that’s when we change,
when where starken.
When its becomes,
unfamiliar and darken.

Through the silence,
through the grace.
Through the rays,
Of replacing your haste.

Learning to breath,
whilst doing everything.
relearning to breath,
No matter what’s seen.

Writing and reading,
working things out.
defining the difference,
run away from Clive’s clout.

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