My Home My Love Jones
When I sit down to write a poem I think
How should I bring this page to life?
Can I make it breathe, my words those verbs
It doesn't have to rhyme or say much at all.
I only rhyme out of habit and by choice.
That small closet at the end of the hall
This whole place I'm joyous I've found it
My own alone, ambiance, my atmosphere
Even if the poem makes no sense that's what I'm
Aiming for, its my here, a small box of walls
My studio really, where I imagine the plush
Of natures green hills, a small space
The solitude my far away place
Castle in the mountains
My studio my fair share when I sit down
To write I'm thinking of being home alone
It's my love Jones I'm squared here
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