Analysis of 7:56 P.M. Tuesday Evening

I am sitting in front of a campfire,
paper and pen in hand
trying my best to be poetic.
Yet,
no beauty will flow forth from my pen.

Perhaps creativity is scared of the fire,
hot glowing embers jumping out,
smoke rising in steady streams.

Perhaps creativity is shy,
this explains why it will not be put on the spot.
Choosing instead to creep up on me
in the still of the night,
thrusting me out of a dead sleep,
pestering me until I lay it to rest with pen and paper.