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,

To maintain,

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…

                    -auf Wiedersehen!

                                                (ed)