Twenty till midnight, and the light from my screen
Sends a soft, pale glow, much like a dream
Over my face, and reflects in my eyes.
I begin to type this, after quite a few tries.
Sometimes a poem just won't come out right.
Sometimes it takes till the middle of the night
Before I can say what I couldn't before.
The truth is, I've no idea anymore
What causes the surge of creative flow
On those days when the poem comes out just so.
This one lacks clarity, purpose, or skill.
I think it was written for the space it will fill.
But you never know, for I never do:
God may pop in with a message for you
Through me, at ten minutes 'til midnight is here.
But I couldn't say, for it's never too clear
Where He starts to speak, and I cease to write.
At least know that He is with you tonight,
Wherever you are, as you read this rhyme.
Whatever your mood, whatever the time,
Please know I'm just writing my poem-a-day,
But I'll let Him come say what He wants to say.
postscript
Halfway done. And my brain is shot. It's all I could come up with tonight.