Midnight Writers

By Reece Sellers-Mitchell

When I talked to a lyricist
He also used the lateness
of the hour to assist,
Writing at night’s full flight,
out of others’ sight
Risking getting in trouble yet they scribble
Down their ideas undercover,
The disapproval of Mothers is at stake
But they must carry on for their art’s sake

I wonder how many other teens
Work on artistic dreams
Hoping that society will deem
Their expression as high art,
not dull,
Will our poetry be seen
As worthy of the future student’s study
And not just doggerel?

As he writes at a late hour
He is joined by a shower
Of others, a generation
Of creative creations
With little sense of congregation
A widespread community
Animators, teenage bands, writers and poets
Which contains the future Poet Laureate,
And the successful songwriters
Whose voices will be heard,
And the other who will have to forget
Their dreams, and label them as absurd

But for now the future failed and acclaimed
Either face fatalistic misfortune or fame
All of them for now
Belong to the same
Midnight writers,
Against the odds fighters