Here we are at the half way mark
Writing until our pens are weary
Typing into the velvet dark.
Desperate to avoid the dreary
Metaphor, simile, bright and bold
Smiles, gritted teeth, and quietly teary.
Grasping onto our muse, we hold
A torch to the dark; a verbose fire
Driving away the clapped out cold
A word feast is all I truly desire.