I have to get up very soon
Why am I still writing poetry?
Tonight the thoughts keep flowing
from that creative side of me

I think about life and love
and everything in between
I marvel at all the wonderful
things that I have seen

But deep down I
wonder if I'm manic
And gonna be up all night
"I should sleep" I say and panic

I think of all the things
I could be doing but I need to get to bed
It's crazy how I fight sleep
and how fast ideas go through my head

I've had enough
of the words of rhyme
Locked away behind
the bars of stanzas
doing time

All the hopes
and wanna be dreams . . .
Just more nightmares
with chilling screams

No I had it !
and I don't want anymore
I don't want someone knocking with words to implore

Go take your metre ,
Yellow pencils number four
I don't want to hear you
knocking on my door

You can go post
and share with the world
Shelly , Keats , Byron . . .
They all make me feel sterile

A sonnet for your bonnet
Haiku for beret
You can put a quill to it
Go have your good Shakespearean
day