I Do

by TPAC

My written stories in a say loud in harks, conveys an eerie adventure, wrote did view in marks, states of life inked, dangling had truth reality; its fault: barks brown leaves.

These fresh ideas, done all in clear concept attempted, in my workshop, thoughts, they would win, set for top target; all go below, got low review fact to stop: the bad.

A river it curls, by my tree, flow to its top is glittering rays, rolling rippling waves to glow light crystals; seen to row bold ads of a fresh job: an invitation this puts news.

My other job I do, finding at night the visuals, reviewing of each new theory, writing notes of its aids viewpoints, protection of this good it's a right thing, paused a knight to face evil: cut wickedness.

Human affairs, strikes each leaf that taunt, sound toot, trumpet a horn's hoot, aims to shoot at fears its bent injustice; destroyed that evil for good striking: stop horrors a goal.

I treat about, my tree, clear the outer borders, along its branches trim, and test for the best condition to grow seeds I have, blackened soil sunk in: containing a nest high.

One leaf wise note tingles, giving a gift, it's for others brother, thinking those said conceptions, off this limb, it is no bother; former refresh those decisions: reviving it is Mother Nature.

The wind gusts this cloud's face formed, peering back to reply, release from seen mouth, words airing, out of the lips, it is to imply this to me; soon falling errors will comply: coming of Spring.

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My Workshop

A chapter in the book Act of Endurance

I Do

by TPAC

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