Midnight is for poetry.
Crass commercialism rules the day.
Midnight is reality-free,
and the Money God temporarily goes away.
Daylight is for the Money God,
and we busy with our tedious employ.
Pay the bills we must.
(Not that it brings us any joy.)
Midnightt is for poetry,
when undernourished imagination feasts.
At night, reason is absentee,
and nagging sanity is ceased.
Midnight, when the Money God's worshiper's sleep.
Calliope upon her ever-flowing scroll enchants.
Upon the Earth does this magical muse creep,
seducing solitary scribblers into poetic romance.
Author notes
I wrote this because I am nocturnal, and like all good readers of George Orwell who read his unrecognized classic, Keep the Aspidrista Flying, I hate the Money God. Thankfully, we poets find some relife at night.
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