Poet I Am

Poet I am, perforce this must you see,
For thus I speak, and also thus I write,
Each careworn syllable in time’s despite,
And every subject of the verb “to be”
Injected in its post, reflexively.
Up in a garret, in weak candlelight,
I ponder deeply through the fulsome night,
Repairing to my narrow cot, weary.

I utilize this sonnet form, Sicilian,
And honour Petrarch’s pleasing passion so,
Our love for Laura, Lucie, Leah, Lillian,
Profound and pure, secure and sure to grow.
Poet I shall be, with my brain reptilian
Crawling through darkness, which is all we know.