When you call me.
When you write me.
When you whisper sweet words.
You're thoughful.

I'm asborded by your expressional heart.
When you reach out to me.

When you kis me.
When hold me.
When you say you lost without me.
You're thoughful.

When I'm sick.
And you are there.
When you sick.
And I am there.
We thoughtful toward one another.

You considerate in every way.
You someone that special to me in many ways.

There are words that hurt and heal
Hurts like a knife that doesnt cut it hurts as if tho
Why say things you dont really mean
To hurt the hurter two bads dont make a good
Two goods dont make a bad but a good

If you get hurt say thoughful things back
Rather than a blind minded attack
You will heal your self in the process
It'll confuse the hurter and it will upset and they will stop

Words arent always there to be said sometimes your mind is desert dead
All things that are said to hurt is because they are jealous
They really wish to be you
They really wish to have you
Or they really are down right heartless

God's always watching weither you believe it or not
You may not see him or hear him but its not same on his point of view
Bring him in your heart you will feel new from the start
Love the world as God does all will go good or it will get slightly better

More you trust in him the easier it will be in life
You have my word.

letters sit
in order,
line by line
at attention,
waiting for
thoughful reading.
a road,
of sorts,
to redemption
sitting, mulling
ruminating on
scripted worth.
engaged in
conveying thought,
from mind
to page,
to mind
again cyclical,
periodic conversely,
intermittent reoccurrences.

alone most,
are little
strokes of
graphite or
ink calligraphy,
mutterings of
little intonations,
phonectic sonances,
utterings, begetting
for their,
episodic isolation,
mumbo, jumbo,
gibberish as
birthing rooms
but together
ordered, united,
babble becomes
lucent, lucid
oratory of
inordanate worth.

She realised inspiration was all around her,
She could change her hand writing like a chameleon would his colour,
Her thoughful mind had so much to say,
Not through her mouth but her fingers per se,
When faced with challenges,
She'd create pages,
Pages of words of encouragement,
She chose poetry because it was one of the things she did with so much ease and without worry of being wrong,
So she chose poetry.

Run to make distance
With those who catch up.

Run to observe
Whose who torment.

Beware, lest tou run
With ease and length
For these catch up.

Run fast and short,
Stop and turn,
Observe.

Those who torment catch up.

Stand firm,
Those who catch up keep going.

Thoughful, weave through
With knowledge observed.

Let those who catch up
Pass
For they can’t turn back.

yet again
the night came
and she sat there
hopeless
and
thoughful
what would her future be?
she laughed,
for wishing her life away
was her *only virtue

You are so smart
But so dramatic
You could really be a thoughful person
If you thought about other people
I see it in you
The desire to care
But you just can't seem to find it
In there

Great thing is happening to me
Everything appears alive you see
Never ending zest I feel inside
Everyday this feeling does not subside.
Vow of love I offer to you my dear
In my heart it is only you I bear
Enchanted by your charm
Vibrating smiles so warm...
Expressing your beauty!

Sweet and loving you are my love
Untainted faith draws us like clove
Many admire your fair countenance
Being thoughful loving you is relevance
I found a gal quite pretty and best
Let me own your heart my dearest
I dream of finding someone
Now I found only one...
God knows it is You!

Sensitive intuitions you have in life
Undeterred by the rampage of strife
Make good of your leisure time
If you need me just call anytime
Nothing can stop me of caring
Girl like you is worth loving
Up to the end my love stands still
It has no boundaries and own will
Take this promise at freewill.

humanity
these days,

often
leaves me
in
bewilderment,
awe
and despair.

hunt,
go ahead
for food
of course
but,

why shoot
a bear?

that's just
trophy
hunting,
pound
your chest
little *****
syndrome
in my eyes.

i literally
look at
those that
trophy hunt
as wolves
in disguise.

be you
of course.

just remember,
God
nor I..

your
murderous
behavior
will we
ever endorse.

i clearly
put much
more value
on life,
any life
than you.

i am
thoughful
enough
to know
that
once we
draw our
last breath..

there are
NO REDOS.

**** for
food?
Jesus
approves.

******
for sport?
from heaven
to hell
your
forever home
moves.

"...a) Apple Pie: Independent, realistic, and compassionate; b) Pecan Pie: Thoughful and analytical; c) Chocolate Pie: Loving; d) Pumpkin Pie: Funny and independent" Now, which one are you, dear reader?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMVIII)


Tis Nash'nal Pie Day, asking for intents
"Which pie are you?" My parents used to hail
Me as lo, "Pumpkin--" where seems that detail
Means "funny, independent," til from hence
I wonder if that's why they did, a sense
Of all I am within that label, frail
As thinking such things stuff and nonsense, bail
For how I 'non approach life, is't pretense?
What if it's true? My friends now as it were
Will call me "crazy," in a fun way, to
Be certain, and I've nary suitor, fer
All that. Been called "free spirit" whence, is't true?
To think twas sweet potato pie in tour
They served us lately. Then: which pie are you?

01Dec24b