Shitty Poems

Midnight Musings

The pale moon casts a light on the shadowy earth below

Along with thoughts that hadn't seen light before.

They might never see the light of day

But the light of the moon is enough to explore them,

It is only in the secret shadowy hours

That you hear the silent midnight musings.

"Does she love me?" Is written hastily in the dark

On the back of crumpled paper.

The words might not be visible

But the answer is still less unclear.

More words may follow, they may overlap

With one another or another set of words

Being typed up in the same secret hour...

"Could he love me?" Is brought to light

By the killer, secret, mysterious moon

So another light brings it to life,

Tired, lovestruck eyes squint at a phone screen

Typing out question after question.

Sometimes with rhyme, sometimes with rhythm

Always with hope and sometimes - eventually - with answer.

"Is life real?" Is pondered in the dark

By curious souls who twist and turn in their sleep.

Could there ever be an answer to this?

No one knows so the mind tends to wander

Or wonder about unanswerable questions more.

Have others pondered this too?

People ask, but how to explain existential uncertainty

To people who are busy with their (possibly unreal) life?

"What reason do I have to stay?" Is not in coherent words.

Instead a scar and blood say all, well, most

Of what is thought and needs to desperately be said.

I sincerely hope that the last light the people

Who muse over this, is not the light of the moon tonight.

Although the world may seem dark at times,

With darkness comes light and light is not very far behind.

Or perhaps illustration translates the imagination

Of the musings to tangible, visible objects.

As the pen wanders over the page

The mind wanders and wonders too.

Only a small desk and a lamp contain

The world of the artist at that moment in time.

Midnight musings are secret, special and silent

And no one re-lives them the same ever again.

Sometimes they're written down

Or typed up or sketched or later played in a song.

Of course, some musings stay in the confinement forever

Of the anonymous column of a unreal newspaper,

Skimmed by all eyes but few words remembered

That everyone has written for albeit unknowingly,

Entitled: Midnight Musings.

A.N. Y'all. I need to do assignments but I read smth on tumblr and i got one of those things.... like i never get them,.,,,, and they'r really rare for me,.,,.,, oh yeah. an idea.