Poem: Muse

another spark, idea, a poem to write,

yet why is it that they come mainly at night?

tomorrow is an early and important day,

what more possibly could this brain have to say?

at this point, it’s going in circles and loops,

begging to be tired, feel my eyes start to droop.

please turn off, and let me sleep, now.

put the pencil down, no more furrowing your brow.

the words, can wait, they live in your head...

now, for your own sake, off to bed!