I find it kinda funny,
How my brain works at night,
I see the world as a painting,
Like everything has a special magic,
Like things aren’t quite what they seem,
Yet it is beautiful,
The seemless transition of thoughts to paper,
Like the smooth strokes of a painters brush upon canvas,
My fingers instruments of art,
And yet,
If I really tried to formulate eloquent literature during the day
I would not be able to come close to the concepts that I derive at the early hours of the morning,
I feel as though it isnt really me formulating such sentences or free verse poems,
Since my mind is often st a point of disarray,
In the day I feel as though my mind is deteriorating,
I am unable to find the words I am looking for,
Or even remember the most rudimentary of things,
Yet at night,
Especially this night,
I am formulating thoughts with such high vocabulary,
That I was unaware I even knew,
Let alone remember,
But I find such peace in my mind at night,
Especially in times like these,
Where I find hope in myself,
Hope in my own knowledge,
And hope in the future of my wellbeing.