Midnight Is Almost Here

Long after the sun has set, and the moon has been out for sometime, and it is full, and a couple stars twinkle with no remorse, the sky is dark purple and blue. The headlights from hotrods shine through my living room window, as I sit there listening to the classical station on the radio and I sit hunched over my typewriter, a cigarette hanging from my mouth, a half bottle of red wine at my possession. I look at the clock upon the wall, 11:45 P.M. Ah, midnight is almost here. Midnight, the turn of a new day, as I sit there I breath in, feel my heart skip a beat, I turn to the radio and click it off. the classical nocturne of Chopin disappears into thin air. I put out my cigarette, cork the bottle of wine. I type one last poem, before the end of the night, before the night goes away into the past. Then I think to myself, Goodbye old day, oh, what memories I created along with the shining of the sun? Then I write about the midnight slowly approaching, slowly climbing to the zero hour, the hour of: a new day, a new hour, a new life, a new start, a new woman, a new adventure, a new everything, a new anything, a new politician, a new choice of lunch, a new walk around the block, a new time, a new day, a new sun, and a new moon, and after a new day, a new night, and another midnight, and a new cigarette with be lit, a new bottle of wine will be open, and drunk with responsibility, and all will be good and everything with come into place, with a new day, and a new life, a new midnight. The start of a night soon will come. It is now 11:52 P.M. I've been writing for seven minutes, eight more minutes till a new day, till a new beginning! I'm tired, I'm going to bed. Have a goodnight.