Misfortune
life, Literature, poetry

Midnight Poet

A midnight poet,

I sneak into raven

nights when they

give in to bottomless

slumbers , I see what

they turn a blind eye.

I endure much more than

what fall in my share.

I burn midnight oil to

weave sepia colored

webs of words in the

sooty corners of my

imaginary castles .

An undertaker I dig up

the icy pains from my

grey gravish heart.

You accuse me of taking

imaginary flights but

my only fault lies in the

annoying habit to feel more and

understand a little.

Yes I am emaciated and cold,

so I sew every night the cozy

blanket of my words to keep me

warm, the characters I

embroider stay awake to

keep the loneliness at bay

I am the midnight poet.

14 thoughts on “Midnight Poet”

    1. Thanks Drac, i do prefer writing in the stillness of night, my creativity is at best during midnight.

    1. Dearest Eddie, I wish I was a morning person but I am a night owl. I do everything at night, that’s when I am most creative. I am glad your like my writing, I am literally on cloud 9, thank you so much for he kind words. Take Care.

  1. Uff that annoying habit to feel more and understand a little. I guess, I am right on this track. I can relate to it. Those midnight chaos of thoughts and words and a composition creates a terrible tragedy but beautiful to read. Nice one Tanya. πŸ‘πŸ˜πŸ™Œ

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