Another Nightly Poem

My eyes begin to crust
and my hand begins to rust
as I stare at the page before me.

In the flashlight's glow
no one else will know
the words scribbled down I see.

In the dark of the night
my mind starts a fight
over lack of poetic thought.

There's still hope
so with the pen I cope.
With writing, I stop not.

I continue to think
as the pen releases ink.
With my subject I must debate.

It could be cliche love
and the stars above
or a poem of sadness or hate.

In the end I won
for this poem is done,
so down goes the paper and out the light.

It may not be the best,
though unlike the rest,
but hey, it's good enough for me tonight.