The passion burns through my chest,
to write, to stay up till sun up,
without needed rest,
i don't see the sun rise often,
not many appreciate, its beauty,
forgotten,

A fast food breakfast,
the hot cakes with the sweet maple,
we feast, because the hours before we usually wake up,
is the only time it's available,

Now the sun is high,
and a deep sleep is near.
i wake up in the evening,
with thoughts unclear,
unsure on how to spend my night,
sit on the street by my lonesome
and watch the cars go by,

The rain pours, and beats the ground,
like when our feet beat the concrete,
and we stumble around,
without a sense of guidance,
the sirens in the distance alert,
and break the calm night silence,  

we had nowhere to be,
but we found a place,
an overgrown garden to write poems,
and appreciate the candles warm embrace,
and the moon's glow,

watch the city life below, from the roof top sights,
while the intoxicated stagger,
under the street lights,
where's the message in the bottle they were looking for?
to show them a way,
"oh well, we'll try again tomorrow night"
out front the liquor store,
on a rainy Sunday,