Poetry for Peace. Day 17. Burning the Midnight Oil Again

Blimey! Day 17 and no poem yet, trying to think of one so I can go to bed. Burning the midnight oil again. What can I write about?

Burning the Midnight Oil Again

by Steve Cook

Burning the midnight oil again,
Racking my brains for a verse
While the rest of the world is sleeping.
Feels kind of perverse,
Like cruising the back alleys 
Of creation, seeking a tryst
Where the Muse turns tricks
On street corners.
Seems like my soul 
Got pawned for a rhyme,
While the fickle whore of Inspiration 
Expires on the horns of dilemma,
Hangs on the wire
Like a dead warrior,
Fights for breath like she's drowning.
So here I am in my kitchen
In my dressing gown
Less the warrior, more the clown,
Wielding the fine laser of ideas
Like a blunt chisel.
If I keep hacking long enough
Something will come in the end.
In the meantime I go on pretending
Just for the hell of it
That I'm not having fun.

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