sake
Like writing this verse is automation. I do it without thinking, without planning or trying, I simply do. Many things are automatic, the world is becoming automatic. Instead of deliberate, and planned, most actions and events are automatic.
Twisting round without stopping, never ending, keeping going. Then stop! What a stop, what is this stop... a knot, where did it come from, what is it doing here, the hands! Those hands, what have they done to our beautiful spiral... they stopped the braid!
A ruffled forehead shows this. A focused gaze displays it. A touch on the shoulder translates it. A pensive look radiates this. If you have much of this, you talk very little except about it.
The moment was tense, the people, scared. All onlookers stood and wondered if the loved ones they had left inside would be okay. The shots rang out again and again, screams of pain on both sides. This battle would not end well for everyone, it seems it may never end.
I use my pouch for many things, all sorts of things. For carrying things. For hiding things. For covering things. For Protecting things. A pouch is a very useful thing, which rhymes with couch, and slouch and vouch, I love my pouch.