Finally, the hectic day is over,
and all I want to do is sleep.
But, as soon as my head hits the pillow
that voice of inspiration comes to me in the darkness.
Brilliant words flow to me from out of nowhere.
And as I have learned before,
if I don't write these lines down now,
they will be gone by morning.
No matter how hard I try to remember them, I cannot.
The poetry that came to me in the darkness. is gone forever.
I am blinded as I turn on the lamp
but, I find my paper and pen, and begin to write.
The endless ticking of the clock on the wall
is like torture, as the time flies past the midnight hour.
But, every time I turn off the light and lay back in bed,
that haunting voice starts to torment me, again.
So, I have no choice, but to get back up and write, again.
The same thing keeps occurring at 3 a.m., 4 a.m., 5 a.m.,
and now the light of dawn begins to show.
Under these circumstances,
poetry can be a blessing and a curse.
Because, some of my best work
has come to me after midnight.