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