This attempt of creating poem about being a software developer will replace my journal for today.
Comes the night,
out goes finger,
a press of button.
A beep,
turns of blades,
room turned as cool as arctic.
You dropped dead on bed,
wishing it’s fact.
Night’s dead,
killed by the sun.
Wake up son,
Went the alarm.
Up he rises,
off the bed he rolls,
gave the alarm the blows.
Lethargic,
walked out a zombie,
looking for his breakfast,
made it instant fast.
Sat down,
have it slow,
thinking about woe.
Dropped into the hole.
Off to work,
dealing with droves of people,
all of whom squeezers.
Off the train,
to the coffee shop,
out with coffee in hand.
Down by the desk,
faced wall of text,
requiring fingers full of dex,
to churn out more text.
You think you are mack,
Insects,
give you the smack,
now you feel like crap.
Squash squash,
death to them ,
never seem to end.
You try again,
hope to gain,
some confidence but never quite back.
Time disappear,
sun gone for the day,
no yay.
Home you go,
back to the start you go,
again.
Bran's World 