Just a poets thoughts at two-thirty in the morning,
A light to discard all the mourning.
None of this makes sense but all just lingers,
In my thoughts tied around my finger.
Into words I type them down.
In rhymes in rhythms and music I drown.
A penny for your thoughts they say,
For words and tales of yesterday.
Waiting for the present to end,
We'll stay wrapped in memories of broken friends.