Poem - "3:12"

Mike | Tuesday, March 25, 2008

It's 3:12 on 3/12, I should be asleep,
Nowhere on campus do I hear a single peep.
My cellphone light shimmers a glow upon the page,
As I scribble a poem with my mind engaged.

I'm not really thinking of a single subject matter,
Whether it's food, technology, or walking under a ladder.
I shuffle around, my arm became numb,
It's stick of this night owl I have become.

I think of the stuff I'll do tomorrow,
Perhaps don a cape and turn into Zorro.
I hope the Caf offers a tasty dinner,
Chicken sandwiches, mac & cheese, they'd all be a winner.

My other arm gives in, I turn on my tummy,
Sheets wrapped up, I'm a contemporary mummy.
Peering around the room, I'm a late-night funster,
Also beware of the evil boogy monster.

It's 3:29, and my mind switches to dead,
I quietly place my notebook underneath my bed.
Plopping back up, my body in a heap,
I close my eyes, and quickly fall

© 2008 Mike
Yeh, I wrote this awhile ago (3/12), but figured I'd post it to show how I can get desperate for rhymes. I sniff 'em out, and tack them on the end. Rhyming is made of awesome, and I really like children's poets who do it, such as Shel Silverstein. Check him out. Lates.

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