In the darkness of midnight, the moon turns away its face
I settle down behind my desk and write down my fate
I’ll form my sorrow in the shapes of lyrics and lines
Ones that won’t make sense in the bright morning light
The pen that bleeds ink made from my hatred and guilt
Words like stones that bring down the walls I have built
I’m the midnight poet, my safety the silence before dawn
So, at first light, all these thoughts will be gone.
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 4:39 PM UTC
In the darkness of midnight, the moon turns away its face
I settle down behind my desk and write down my fate
I’ll form my sorrow in the shapes of lyrics and lines
Ones that won’t make sense in the bright morning light
The pen that bleeds ink made from my hatred and guilt
Words like stones that bring down the walls I have built
I’m the midnight poet, my safety the silence before dawn
So, at first light, all these thoughts will be gone.
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