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Alive.

Quiet like the dawn crashing upon the rocky shore of darkness.

Full of noise, full of life.  A roar of silence.

Too loud to speak.

Self-aware.

In all things I am.

I exist.  Sentient.

Feeling, knowing, being.  Thunderous.  Mute.

Heaving towards stillness, the permanent precipice, the denouement.

Beauty in knowing acceptance.  Birthing terminus.

The rocky shore of darkness as the light creeps quietly away.

Waiting to be reborn.

Me, spewing my bad poetry on an unsuspecting readership.  😉  It had to be done.  Sorry all.  Just one of those days/nights.

My Compucapable Husband

Ode to DH

A poem by TD Smith.

My man? He’s hot.

4 gigs of ram, he bought.

“Install it myself?  I’ll take a shot.”

“It won’t be easy”, others thought.

My man?  He’s unshakable.

It’s unmistakable,

He’s impressively capable.

 

If, at this point you’ve realized nothing else, you should be keenly aware that a poet I am not.  But hey!  I’ve got a smart husband, who is totally compucapable…  and that’s pretty hot.  Intelligence is sexy.

And yes, he again performed an upgrade on one of our computers (this one’s a four and a half year old iMac).  He’s given it new life, new pep, new vigor.  It was still doing pretty well for it’s age, but now it’s like a brand new machine again.

Thanks Damon.  Mwah!

 

 

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