A Night On The Rooftop

The clock chimes.

The earth sleeps.

But my world doesn't.

My world isn't much.

A puzzle of three pieces, just.

My paper, my ink and I.

I get drunk on my tears.

To live once again through the years.

My friends clink their glasses with mine.

I narrate as my head bends.

To my every word the ink attends.

And the paper makes a promise to remember.

The sky now lightens slowly; enough have I cried.

The paper has crumpled and the ink has dried

But we friends know of raising another toast tonight.