• I sit in the woods, against a tree.
    Midnight and its pitch black.
    A breeze picks up, and flows through me.
    I sit dressed in all black with my notebook

    A figure hops over my bag
    A bird flies right through the moonlight
    Frogs croak, and crickets chirp. I get an idea
    My pen begins to move. I know not what I write.

    Once my pen is down, I pack up and go home.
    I feel someone in the room. Probably my mom.
    She taks the paper from me. "Very Nice" and leaves.
    I know not what I wrote, for my entire world, is Black