The clouds of curiosity
fluffing up like pink cotton candy,
the kind you get at the county fair.
A blooming pink fluff of a sugary
capacity, to fill your mouth
with the most desirable thirst
for lemonade that you've ever had.

Allowing for the sweet granules
to melt blissfully on your tongue,
savoring each and every sweet
morsel
'til you don't even realize that
the pink fluff is all gone.

Then you are riding on a perpetual
rush from the sugar
seeping into your bloodstream
aiding your curious adventure,
seeking as the lights from
the Ferris Wheel tantalize.

The fear of the top of the ride
worth the rush on the way down,
the people seem much smaller than
you expected;
but the rush,
well, the rush speaks for itself.

Ambiguous sky so full of color:
Your rosy complexion mocks my pain,
Driving along a winding serrated edge,
waiting upon the precipice of disdain.

Disdain for all the wrong reasons,
dulled by the sense of an ache,
Riddled with unspoken treason,
wanting it all to change.

The seasons predictable in essence,
as is our merry-go-round,
With a circle change is impalpable,
It just ends where it begins,
In essence.

Fate thought a pliable substance,
no longer can be changed,
A hardened shell of circumstance,
a vivid truth guarding the way.

Though I can change my path,
the road to you is closed,
I cannot travel down it once more,
to be enveloped in your throes.

I cannot end this rhyme,
without saying something rash,
so I will end it here,
with an itch that will go unscratched.

The skies are sad today,
the sun shows not its face
to welcome my flight into
its skies.

Grey clouds and wind,
most unwelcoming
as I make my journey
to the Northeast.

I can't escape my thoughts of you,
even on a plane,
as I fly away,
my future as muddled as the skies,
as ambiguous as a paper cup
in the midst of everyday humdrum.

I watch the people,
bags in hand,
headed to loved ones
in foreign lands,
and it calms me a bit to know,
that even though there will be snow,
and ice and cold and wet,
that there will always be a sunset,
another day put to rest,
another time,
another place,
another unforgettable face.

The steam billows onto
my contemplating face as I
Think
about the consequences

Distractions will not allow
my mind to focus on a
single
thought

My heart and my mind tugging
at one another, the song
ironic
playing in the background

Sighing with relief as it changes
to something that doesn't
apply
to my direct life situation

The new song is catchy,
pulling me from the
depths
of my inner struggle

Tapping my foot to the beat,
But slowly slipping back into my
contemplative
far off
stare...

Mechanical reactions
slither through the cortex,
Binding our beliefs into
a solid jellied mass.

The peons go without a care,
wisdom is not their share,
only to be appeased
in the short term
is their game.

Yet the one who dances freely,
Gracefully fluttering down the walk,
gets stared at and gawked at,
Ridiculed and mocked.

The program
does not recognize the patterns
that are involved,
and the programmers are just too vain
to change the program's
stiff and rigid brain.

So while the programs interact,
the dancer keeps on dancing,
sensibilities in tact.

She notices the patterns,
the snide remarks behind her back,
the stares, the whispers, wonders,
of the program's capacity cap.

How she wishes just one
free person could truly understand
what it's like not to be a robot,
but a compassionate human.

Seas of judgement, seas of motion,
Seas of jealously and hate,
motivated by confusion,
in this altered AI state.

One day there is a person
walking out of sync,
the rest of the people shrink away
from the lone independent freak.

Free thought and new ideas
Are poison to their wires,
new data it can handle,
but independence acts like fire:

Burning through the program
like an arrow with a purpose,
piercing through its hardened heart
rendering the program worthless.

The boy who parted the sea of monotony
found this dancing girl,
and together created a barrier
shattering programs with a twirl.

By the power vested in me,
I command you to think,
Think twice about your actions
or you will find that you will sink
Into a sticky, jellied mass
where your thoughts will cease to think.

As I sit silently,
Observing my room darkening around me,
Hearing the muffled murmurs of passerby,
I wait for the clock to strike upon the nine
for that is when I will be fulfilled.

There is little light
save for the fading light from my window
and the light by which I write
these musings seem dry and empty
of the vigor and posterity of my past.

Austerity and harshness replace
my normally warm and delicate features,
and even my writing feels estranged from me.

My hands that were my hands
do not spring forth a wealth of creativity;
stifling darkness surrounds.

Wallowing is not in my nature
as I remind myself,
and yet here I still lay.

In the company of a turtle,
By the light of its heating lamp
contemplating life's lessons
and feeling that heart tug
in a place deep down

Slipping sorely into a
sleepy state of sentient syllogisms
as logical as a bat sleeping under water
Distractions abound

Eyes heavy as the body begins the process
of hibernation while the brain fights
fervently for its moment in...