Here is my first attempt at poetry. Be kind.
It’s evening at home, staying up all alone,
The clock chimes forlorn, so long until morn,
The TV turned off, the radio quiet,
The thoughts spinning ’round have been on a diet.
They’re thin and they’re spare, no meat on their bones,
Nothing seems right, only sepia tones.
The screen is still blank, the book has no ending,
The writer is waiting, inspiration is fading,
Perhaps with some sleep, dreams might point the way,
So the book can be finished in the light of the day.
I lay down my head on the comfortable bed,
Trust in my heart, I’ll get a fresh start.