At now in the world,
We have got the cold,
Gift given with our God.
In how apears our body,
You can't peak word,
You cover without being told.
You could like to hold,
But your own fingers betrayed,
Wenting by being forced.
Alot of people are suffering,
Live at home while couphing,
Staying at home while wondering.
Time of insects to round,
Animals you can't find,
But people will just soround.
Hot of things are sold,
Even humanbody they old,
Hating God within the road.
Going in bathroom without mood,
Geting shower while speaking loud,
Moving inside while not proud.
You eat alot of food,
Jackets and brankets are fold,
In fire people are boild.
Season use alot of bujet,
Money should be in pocket,
No time for playing clicket.
Season of people to sleep,
It has a shortcall treap,
Because of holding a cup.
Clicket Clacket
steel brackets retract
Ticket Tacket
punching and pressing
*********DING***********
cylander end paper bend
sticky inky ribbons replaced
fingers bleeding words
and every letter let loose
so much tact and impact
on old touchy typewriters
slamming down soliloquies
punching out poems
fast forward forty years
Seems like this keyboard
just doesnt feel the same
with prose made of pixels
in a dull picture frame
but at the end of the day
what difference does it make
my thoughts spilled on a page
for you to give or take.