As she walks in solitude
Her mind revolts in silent feud
As pen scribbles  unheard words
Quick and swift like fleeting birds,

She does not write of love or hope
Of drugs or dope
Words simply flowing
Of thoughts forgoing,

From within thoughts chasm
Apparitions of phantasm
Of dark dreams that roam
In mid night's poem,

What nightmares shall come
When refusing to succumb
So she welcomes the black
And doesn't look back,

As she stalks the night
Without feelings of fright
She just keeps moving ahead
Till all veins bled,

What days she walks toward
Senses all blurred
In soft secretion
But never completion,

Forever writing
A faith citing
Never knowing
Yet always growing,

Her poetry, her dreams
She doesn't know it
She merely writes
The Midnight Poet.