And its midnight again.
Start of a new day,
And in the sky, the stars remain.
1 am,
I wonder how the city looks,
Neon lights,
Hooking up at parties,
Late nights.
2 am,
Are writers awake?
Scribbling away,
Words of a terrible heart ache.
3 am,
Insomnia,
And dark circles under eyes,
Tired,
Of the world and its lies.
4 am,
Times burning up,
Where did the night go?
5 am,
Has someone woken up?
Look out the window;
The stars are dimming,
Grey light enters my room,
And then night ends,
Too soon.
YOU ARE READING
Ephemeral Ink
PoetryPoetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. - Thomas Gray. A collection of all the poems that I've written.
