They tell stories at night,
For they are the Midnight Club,
Their stories are about fishermen,
Lost at sea, nurses seeing God in the wall,
And gunmen shooting from tne Eiffel Tower.
Their stories are sometimes horror,
Mystery, romance; it's all relative,
Like a room filled with plastic,
Full of empty memories,
That would haunt,
A visitor to the Midnight Club.
For many stories are told,
Some about vampires,
And souls coming back from the dead,
Sending a message from beyond.
This club know their days are numbered,
For they reside in a hospice,
There is no doubt they will die,
No matter the cures they think they've found,
Even herbal remedies that trick the mind,
Into believing you're cured.
But the human body can be cruel,
It can turn on you,
Like you're a fool,
And make you suffer,
Time your only friend.
But all pain comes to an end,
The Midnight club at this hospice,
Becoming firm friends.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem