The day is done and dusk has dawned. I lay ,
Writing in rhyme, wrapped up in pen and sheets,
I scribble on and in the darkness play.
No voice is here to sing my soul to sleep,
Except for Pen and Paper and the sounds
Of whispering as they meet. Shapes fall to page,
Forming words, chasing thoughts like bounding hounds.
Flowing ink creates a path from this cage,
Brainwork and fears bound in my flesh and bone,
Restless with searching for someone to hold,
Scrawling till my eyes turn heavy as stone.
My penmanship staggering uncontrolled.
Hands go limp as they surrender to sleep.
Lonely Lullaby into slumber creeps.