Creative Undead
The street lights switch on & so does my head,
From my mind flows prose, compose, no time for bed.
Who knows if those thoughts are chose to come again,
No time to doze, put on some clothes & grab yourself a pen.
The dawn breaks & so does my stride,
Thoughts turn to dust in my mind,
Another artistic vampire, the creative undead,
Time to return to my coffin, my bed.
Here lies the great day sleeper,
Known to few, respected by none, most thought him daft,
His heart burnt bright with the love of his craft,
Fueled by the fires of passion & drive,
Doused with a lack of any real substance.
R.I.P.
Redemption In Poetry.
Copyright © Matthew Miles | Year Posted 2010
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