When the clock
Strikes twelve
And everybody
Has retired to bed
She will get up
Get a paper and pen
And start to scribble
Beautiful lines that
Will last forever.
Comes the break of dawn
She will take the machine she owns
And start to tap its keyboard
To give life to the beautiful lines
She has formed
So that others can read her masterpiece
And followers she can't afford to miss.
That’s the life of a midnight writer
Come hell or high waters
She will breathe life to
Her thoughts one way or the other
For that will really give her
Fulfillment as a writer
Even when a stalker
Is eyeing at her.
P.S. This post of mine has been published at The Writer's Lounge, but because I want to make a complete archive of all the poems I've written, here I am posting it now here.
