An Evenings Verse Poem by Matthew Holloway

I could curse the dying light
Of the day as evening descends
Or scream at the silence of this small room
Four walls and a roof within poorly lit
I could damn all these pages of poetry
That seem certain not to be writ
For they are read aloud in booming voice
Alas only ever in my head
How slowly time passes by at night
When all the world is kept away
I am awake by poetry's gait
To write or talk into the night
Oh what is this you may ask
And my reply returns
It's a poets life my friend
It is to be loved to the dammed end