Midnight emptiness
I challenge,
anyone,
I’ve often thought,
that you can keep the sunny days.
Writing is not,hard most days,
The first rays,
of sun,
The pen speaks,
and the page,
listens,
Forget about time for a minute,
stop watching the sand,
The air is warm,and heavy.
The night belongs,
to artists,
As a writer,
I spend too much time,