It is for tacticle crunch,
That all is stripped away,
To barest metal birthing dreams,
Beyond though trials delay,
But I am taken up with tools,
And call it wizardry,
To trek haphazard trails within,
In little worlds yet free.

Returning to my avid tinkering,
Where hours slip so effortf'ly away,
The time into a trudge begets a march,
To jovial juggernauts' ecstatic haze.

Young thrall of mystery,
Burnt out and bitten cold,
The candle is too short for all this twilight wandering,
Grand towers span the dawn,
Long 'fore such mortal men,
Would ever sink into the depths of thought on thoughts on thoughts.

Awaiting this long end of waits I look,
From tallied terms I seize upon the day,
Strange symbols at the very root of all,
Old trees of calcifying dreams awake,
The machinations of such burdened minds.

By strange poppies in moonlit minds,
The pilgrimage through cryptic fields.
So, weary traveler, do find:
Some beauty in the helping of
Weird people that you quick become,
Those taken with their tools, the worlds they architect.

Deeply embroiled in abstract structure,
Architecting spires and catacombs,
Machinery to fill the expanse of empty state,
Tuned to aching backs beneath the mantel of creation.

Fusing now a reasoning with barks,
Long orders painting me a mighty pedant,
Though the track of things does bear itself more prone:
To rigour, clarity and prescient thought.

Flipping through the pages of a manual,
That stretches on until obscene,
Such knowledge careening out in scroll,
At least the page is tagged and unfolds with so many keys.
In rewiring this and that I found:
The heaps of raw complexity,
But peaking with my eyes half closed,
I'll find my fickle balance on this mass of ingenuity,
I'll spot the beast of cogs and know to turn!

Lazy languages uneager to evaluate,
Cold fusion with an f and finding links
In complete chains away with lists and
Types with kinds in tight constraints but
Crashing down in loops and folds which roll them into mounds.

Sketching out a proof in riddles,
Strawn upon the fever dreams of
Brilliant minds which like to chuckle as
They make their maps of reason and
Find continents submerged in pools of artistry.

When claiming to be functional,
You turn to me inscrutable,
A curiosity drawing out a marvel,
Enigmatic though a joy unravelled.

Making ways down cryptic streets,
Hard market stools, bare faces worn,
The shutters closed in sync with eyes,
A stranger's country this I take,
Carve firmly out my lot and stake
My legs on walking through defeats,
I stagger 'fore a friendly hearth so warm,
A guide and keeper without lies,
To teach the ropes and dwelling make.

Abstract nonsense making ways,
Towards the realm of raving instantiations,
Seething tides of detail and complexity,
Boiling over from idealised dreams,
That enrobe themselves of silicon and stars.

Cracking mazes open at the seams,
Turning hammers spanners rachets mean,
A multitool come power and it slips between,
The maze's cracks to find a path from where it's been.

An adventure trod in jargon,
Functors maps and applications,
Sweet symbols in aesthetic syntax,
Faintly glancing upon the beams,
Of hidden structures in this lake of reason.

My oh my, don't you just like
To hurt my head each step I tread,
You show me that the path I walked,
Seems now to fork from just one head,
Serpentine elegance, you fearsome hydra!
A language built from tiny scales of dread,
This fang here seemed so quite complete,
Until you showed me as I read,
It's but a pretty reflection on your scales,

Composite in its consequence.