This keyboard,
This plastic muse,
An instrument of your will,
Like the typewriters of old,
With these keys,
Q and A and N,
You can fire off a qwerty salvo,
For ire or peace,
Be you philosopher or troll?
This keyboard,
It’s a portal to the world,
A bridge for communication,
Or a facade for animosity,
Your hands become megaphones,
For complaints and poetry and belle-lettres,
The keys enable your artifice,
For ill or morality,
Be you dictator or philanthropist?
Blogging,
The blogosphere,
This bionic web of broaching subjects busily,
Akin to a brother of a gallery building,
Bringing beauty to the bustling bunchs,
Beguiling brainchilds,
And boisterous begetters,
A bible for bibliophiles,
A bountiful ballad of books,
A bedlam of benign braggarts,
Blue art and burgundy art,
Babbling and baying,
Blending like a beautiful wine of bravura,
Bring on the baroque banquet,
More blogging,
Let’s be bloggers.
Feeling a touch nonsensical today,
Feeling a dash ridiculous,
My mind is scarlet jelly,
These thoughts are hundreds and thousands,
Once lost which way does a page turn?
Can a cookie become a chef?
Does winter prevail in many competitions?
Can a merchant learn to sale a ship?
Does my coffee need some medicine?
Can a mansion ever be a lady?
Random thoughts dart about,
I know I’m not making any sense,
But did I ever?
This is my life,
I am player number one,
Average skill level,
Average score,
It’s a bit of a game,
There is no second controller.
I want to travel over our LittleBigPlanet,
See the Silent Hills and Battlefields of the world,
I want to lay upon a sunny beach on Tropico,
Allow the mental Fallout to ebb away.
I want to receive the Call of Duty,
And battle Metroids and Dark Souls in far off places,
I want to Command and Conquer my foes,
And be a knight with a Mount and Blade.
These are simply a few of my Final Fantasies,
Don’t mind me,
I’m just playing video games,
One life remaining,
There are no more credits.
WorldofHarley 