Poetry

Welcome to my happy stars glowing in the faint breezing happily joyous peace calmness here there money is extremely happy staring at the world turning towards the sun noticing writing a noticing glaring at the dog is out of the house for good god where is my child's truck rolls down the street and hits the olden days are behind us, and thus we sing in harmony, melody looked behind the house in the hope of spotting a pound that she gained by eating doe a deer I love you,

Sincerely,

Silas Jones

I have decieded to type a post that features a lot of random words in a random order. Read this aloud: it actually has somewhat of a moving story. IF you like it, here is another.

Pointlessness of it, endless, the voice of a nymph in the airily staying in the perfection of this new year's day, yet the wind sweeps and staring in the wind is a man of sole intensions, his shoes black with soot, his face a blur on the evening wind, the world at his fingertips, my life in his hands, for death is he! Death is upon us all, but for now it is upon me, and he swindles out the candle, and the world in black with woe and misery, for alas, he is here.

Does this sound poetic to you? Note to self: maybe you should start writing poetry. It sounds old-timey to me, like something ouot of the mouth of an writer for the 18th Century. Please comment - yes, I know it's wierd.