Writing hour

tick-tock, tick-tock,
the clock still knocks,
on the window of my eyes.

rules, my mother says:

“six hours of sleep,
that you must keep;
switch off the PC now,
go to bed,” with love;
I start counting sheep.

but midnight, midnight,
that’s writing hour;
along comes a thought,
yes, I love it a lot,
and can’t sleep right.

to hell with all rules,
I say and off I go,
switch on the PC now,
and type what I know;
till my heart is content,
and pride I can show.

Mom watches, silent,
nothing she can do too,
till my muse is happy,
I write what I love to.

Linked with OctPoWriMo (Day 4, When Rules and Inspiration Meet)

(’12, Oct 04)

Poetry & writing are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.

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