I know that I shall always see
more beauty in my words than thee.
I know that I can't concentrate,
upon the garden, but on the gate.
To open wide this holy door,
that others seem to think a bore;
and capture every line and verse,
within the space that I immerse.
Poetic verse is my caffeine,
prepared with leaves of nicotine.
Poems I think we should suppose,
have been around longer than prose.
Word surge, in mindless prying,
while in my bed I am trying,
to catch a quick few winks of sleep.
Waking up to hopefully reap,
words, a line, a poetic treat,
metered, measured in rhythmic beat.