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A Night On The Rooftop

A Night On The Rooftop

1 min
160


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.



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