The Midnight Book Club

Thoughts form a secret midnight book club.

In the quiet attic of my mind
I built small boxes, neat and kind,
To hold my thoughts in ordered rows
Like quiet books on wooden shelves.
But when the moonlight softly spills
The lids begin to crack and tilt,
And all my thoughts slip out like cats
To form a club of midnight chats.
They gather round a silver lamp,
Discussing plots I never planned,
Arguing twists I left unwritten,
Laughing at endings I’d forgotten.
One thought in velvet whispers low,
Another shouts with fiery glow,
A shy one hides behind the stack
And reads the parts I’m scared to face.
They meet each night when I lie still,
Turning chaos into quill and thrill,
And though I try to lock them tight,
They always find new ways to write.
So now I leave the boxes open wide
And listen as they read inside—
My thoughts, once prisoners in rows,
Have built a library no one knows.