Night

When the chirping ceases
and the violins begin to play
when the paper creases
and sleep has taken away your day

the candle burns down to its wick
the clock still continues to tick

you start to think about
your life and all that you have sprout
but everything was devoid of clout
to rid your mind of all its doubt

you sit for minutes, hours, time
but nothing seems to have much rhyme

how can your life be that essential
when no one thinks it has potential?