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The sound of you is so low I cant see. Beneath my pillow you lay, night's favorite pry. A night of poetry I can't write, my eyes swell of sleep's touch good night. A rhythm I wrote so bad, as my voice roars a beauty in stand. A touch of me, you dream. Only the queen of all time shall feel. Happy as I am now, words just write themselves down. Big pen I hold, filled with ink for me to "wrote". Sleep demands, I must go. My eyes fail to not let go. I must leave the words to rest in peace, turn off the light and fall sleep. |
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