JUST ONE OF THOSE NIGHTS…
Some nights I come home to write humorous poetry,
Some I come home to just get a buzz,
But tonight is odd as I am home & into writing,
But not the usual comical prose,
More something in the vein of decompose.
Rather I would write something that cannot be written,
Or read by more than a select few,
Maybe while they kneel in a church pew,
Prostrate to their golden cow as they all grew in their chosen religion.
If I was to keep writing dribble,
Such as I have this evening,
Would I be read half as much by my fellow authors on AD?
Or would I be thought of as one who only scribbles?
I find that my writing on nights like these,
Leans towards the insane,
Rather than the mundane,
As only I can say how my writing can go,
Or stop, if that is the only way it can grow.
At the moment I feel as if my writing is just so much chow mein,
It makes me feign just a little strain,
As a writer I use too much of my brain,
My web domain…
Tell me, am I sane?
Or, around the bend have I gone in my little train…?
Let me just say one more thing…