When I relive the past I find my time
Was spent in many hours of heated search
For perfect words that never would besmirch
A deep intrinsic trust in love of rhyme.

And keeping trust my work was not a waste,
Nor simply writing pieces not so fake,
But also meeting all the rules they make
To demonstrate our art is in good taste.

However now I won't give energy
To seeking out the best words for my stuff,
Or losing sleep when it is not enough
But trusting that I'll find the synergy

When I have gone to bed to dream. To know
That all I write will always help me grow.