Uniformed

Sitting in my chair trying to think of some lines,
Hoping to write a poetry that rhymes,
Thoughts come by once and again,
As this poet gets ready to began,
Staring at the white screen in hope of some sign,
An idea or two coming to my mind,
First line is written, but the next one remains hidden,
It seems the words themselves have become forbidden,
A poem needs to be made,
And a lot of things need to be said,
It needs to be thought provoking,
With a bit of invoking,
Searching for ideas, a poem has formed,
To what degree I was to remain uninformed?

(11800012)   Copyright © 08/01/05 Ronil Tataria