Midnight Hour

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So fun fact I had to write a sonnet for my Brit Lit class, and this thing kinda happened. So basically along the way I realized that I'm simply awful at sonnets (like, really bad), but this is only my first finished attempt, so you have been warned. 

For those of you who don't know, a sonnet is a 14-line rhyming poem (abab, etc.) that is traditionally written in iambic pentamater. Excuse this attempt. 

I do my best work in the midnight hour.

The whole house is asleep, the rooms all dark,

And yet, I like awake, feeling the pow'r,

That makes me want to write and leave my mark.

Histr'y stories, prose, and poetry too,

Jump from my fingers as they itch to type,

Making characters and whole worlds anew. 

My thoughts do burst from this inventive pipe.

When inspiration strikes, you'll never know,

The need to write your thoughts on something real.

Continuing your passion helps it grow;

The love for what I do I simply feel.

So that, my friends, is why I stay awake,

Wanting, one day, to become something great. 

E.D.

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