Writing Kind Of Night
The dark sky covers everything,
It is the past and the future,
Everything is black except the stars that float in the sky like a song that has not been sung.
I dip the feather into ink. My hand moves quickly as the blue ink touches the page. I look out the window. The stars shine like diamonds. The moon joins. And then I know the answer. The answer is a poem. I watch the dark sky and start to shiver. I can already see myself dreaming. I dream about one thing. Poems. Hopefully one day I can write one.
I wake up and look at the white piece of paper. I pick up my feather and dip it into ink. All my problems, all my sadness, everything I am angry about, they all spill onto the page. Those thoughts I kept for years. I write them down. They jump all around turning into a poem.
A beautiful, beautiful poem.