Late at Night, Robbed

Late at night

I write

Looking tired with two tired iris's

Erasing, deleting, slow and nearly dreaming

Dreary like steady sleet

On the page I'm steering

My spine shivers from the cold

The must of weariness makes Tad old

Dusted off

I'm mustered 

I cough

Semi flustered

Shining rhyme until gold

Plated words strap up the armor

Of symbols splitting lips with a sighing murmer

Good timing,

I'm not symied by blank pages

Free flowing thought, with me, right now,

Is all the rages

Though I can't even pretend I want to continue

I'm going to lurk and sidle off to bed

 like a self stealing burgaler

 Robbing all worry so as to sleep my head. 

The End

50 comments about this story Feed