Poetry Boot Camp

Late in the night this poetry I peruse 
Marking each element to see what I could use
If only the poets had thought of me
Nuns and kings, oh fewer would I see!
What wouldn’t I give to read some simple prose
And not seek meaning here between the rows
Let me not ponder scansion or the rhyme
In every stanza, oh I don’t have time!
Milton, Wordsworth, Shelley too
Ah, let me see no more of you!
This poetry is endless, and blends together
Continuing to be my jailer’s tether
Amarantha, I care not about your hair
To me instead bring sleep; ‘tis only fair!
I used to love poetry; its gentle flow
Talking to me in a voice soft and low
Do I now dare to sit down and write?
I fear the mere thought will give me a fright
I know now what I write might escape my pen
I might write a poem I love and then
Each line might march forth like soldiers to war;
I fear they’ll apear on a test even more!
Some poets may just write for their pleasure
Down may they fall who include hidden treasure.