The Late Nights By Jarius Bradley

Head aching, mind blanking, your eyes burning as you stare at the screen,

A lone blinking line staring back in silence,

You can feel exhaustion in every inch of your being, but you can’t quit yet.

 

The ticking of the clock echoes off the palely lit walls

1:15…1:30…1:45; the hands just keep on moving ‘round and ‘round.

 

And yet the line stays where it is. Motionless, taunting.

It moves a little one way then retreats the other again and again, a tempting dance.

 

Now what was due in days is now hours, and yet the curser remains immobile.

Euphoria! An idea! It’s dark and cold, its edges rough and uncouth, merely an infant,

 

But it’s there and it’s alive, slowly spilling over onto the page word after word,

Growing and changing, you may not know where it came from but you know it doesn’t matter.

 

2:05…The flashing line has moved not just by a letter or a word, but by miles

From one end of the page to the other it has journeyed and in its wake is art, your art.

 

Over mountains and through rivers the cursor meandered until it reached its goal

And with a sigh you click send and watch as the screen goes black as the lid slowly closes.

 

Little does the blank screen know that it was only the beginning

It will light again and again each time with new stories and emotions flooding its pages.

Each one instilling a newfound passion and fire inside you.

This poem is about: 
Me

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