Midnight Writer

One of those nights when
The mind wanders off to
Unknown world,
Searching and pursuing
The hero weaving the story

Outside, the rain weeps for
His tragic journey as the
Thunder roars, accusing her for lying
The shadow in the dark vindicates,
Unlike the lying politician,
She’s an artist at words

Liar or artist, she doesn’t care,
Following her harmless passion
The keyboard clicks into the
Wee hours of the night
And time fly away
Turning her hair gray

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