Theory: Poetry should not be attempted at 3 AM. Will you comment on this theory?
The Descent of Poetry
by Elaine Polin
The hours before sunrise heavy lie on my heart,
Night, former companion, is reluctant to part.
Bright Luna is absent, no breeze stirs dead air,
Ocean’s tides lie at ebb, stars and planets elsewhere.
In these strange, silent hours, time seems to stand still,
And clichés spew their horrors, an eternity to fill.
Poetry should be written when neurons are firing,
So tonight, I give up, my pen I’m retiring!
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