Dole
Is water, evil?
A reign of the old...
To lengthen a chaste of a swindle?

Spit, indeed
Spite is a fouling light...
Meant with troubled mercy, is spice heed?
Looking the horizon, *** is where might...

Has an owe
Owed the timidity, of a love...
We are the seldom, of vice come to know
A reach of sanity's reality, hunger for a covenant?

Choose meagerly...
And a whole decency, becomes our decision
Noticing the bared future of sovereignty...
Arbitrary brass will do; for a secret, a hap, and an intimation?

Love, is a memory fed...
The drama of sophistication, met
For the only liberty of avarice, ever lead
With the voice of deliverance, are we mercies; living's moment let?

Rolling with the hunches
Safety in a tiger's eye
Has become a lucid scent, a possible unction
To the staring hour, we remember for denial...?

Saviors to break for it...
Sated pleas of untoward necessity...
Themselves, in the grasp of order and wit...
Speed of patience, to a wealth we knew should, politely...

The thunder we dote, was a marvel...?
Sent to merit for the ultimatum baring
Brief as loves boredom can be, the smile is actual
Where sincerity is from ear to ear, the want of caring

Do you remember me?
Like calling a kiss a sweet lightning
Come from the cloud, we devote to ourselves, see
The question of unity become our only hope, realizing...

A real tooth of repose and hindrance, that knows, you
Ready to chew nothing but the thought, of callous interim
Where we are, the tone of a silent voice to see the rue
Of compliment, are we that we are, a solution to anarchy's whim?

Sweet deliverance
Set to wishes only a courage's mind could blow
Forces and prowess to assure an imagination with seemly chance
Timid as we are, is a truth the only, when in the house to know?

Oh Optimus Prime,
Were you still in your prime when
you thought of that name?
Were you still in your prime
when you ruined hundreds and thousands of kids’ lives
by discontinuing your adventures?
Oh Optimus Prime, were you still in your prime when you fled from my life and never returned?
And to this day I wonder Optimus Prime,
are you still in your prime?
       Here I sit and wait
       Counting the clock, peering at time,
       Hoping someday my answers are met by fate
       So a state of satisfaction may be mine.

So sorry dearest Gawain, I am Optimus Prime.
I tried desperately under the stresses of daily life as Optimus Prime
to seek out the answers and address these questions,
but they are so plentiful.
As you know, I had to fight many troubles
and fend off many enemies,
all the time trying to stay in my prime.
Though you are the first to ask these questions,
I know you will not be the last,
For many often seek out the heart of the one they wish to save.
       Untidy though I have written
       Your conscience I pray,
       Will keep you from being smitten,
       As it is answers that I too crave.

I have long awaited your response Optimus Prime,
and I thank you.
When I watched you on TV, I would speak to the screen,
but there was never a response.
With all my imagination I believed you were alive,
but only now have you proven that you are.
Though many questions remain unanswered,
one question we may lay to rest,
and that is Optimus Prime,
whether you are still in your prime.
And at times when you may think you are not,
it is of your soul that you ought wonder.
       If you a man but four and I a man but three,
       the answer lies with the God of thunder,
       Ascending your soul, like climbing a wet tree,
       Is a slippery riddle I dare not blunder.

I thank you Gawain. I struggle and mercifully I am in debt to you.
If it wasn’t for you, there would be no soul of Optimus Prime.
You have created a soul for me like I have created myself in the hearts of kids throughout the country.
And though I was born from pencil,
I will go on and live in the hearts of these children,
not because of pencil,
but because of people like you
who choose to look beyond my prime.
I call now on my heavenly muse
to guide me in this new adventure,
And offer up his strength to me as I lay aside my prime.
       Sir Gawain and the God of Thunder
       Through random discovery we may find,
       If none of us go asunder,
      ‘Tis likely we may place this soul of mine

What do all these unread books mean,
a life that must move, but intends to someday have
more time to sit and ponder?
Or am I slothful from the smudged screen gleam?
Endless tool possibilities, you've become my lvl. 70 distraction
No capture, no defeating
just the monster in the cave
without an escape rope, or even matches
Go so crazy
I wanna light my shirt on fire in protest
and forget to take it off first
I wish for old days of street loitering gossip, and busking
How'd we lose it so fast?
You can't even find the picnic spot without a digital pamphlet
so excuse me as I lament
the dying days
I hardly lived