A Midnight Conversation
As the clock's hands switch to a new day;
I find myself sitting up at my desk,
while holding my head and (like a madman)
having a conversation with myself.
I do not find myself to be crazy,
but society has a different outlook on the Blue Poet,
who locks himself in his room
surrounded by white walls,
and scribbling poetry left and right.
I am not crazy!
Maybe if someone listened when I talked,
they'd think otherwise.
So, now as I try to scramble the tangled jungles of my mind,
for something to write down to entertain an audience of poets
I find myself having a lonesome midnight conversation.
Entertaining isn't it...?
.2.4.2014.
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