The Yearning Poet

The poet in I and thee.
It yearns to be set free.

The words of a poem, mightier than a sword.
Dead tree's skin must not be its final abode.

The rhyme we sing, the notes we play.
Here comes the night and there goes the day.

Notes in unison, in utmost uniformity.
Will I make the mistake of non-conformity?

What compels this poem to rhyme?
The poet in I and thee.