Poems Plight

I must pretend,
To smile pretty.
When in a rut,
And not so witty.


Rhymes don't come easy,
To me some days.
The mind a fog,
Thoughts in a haze.


I love to write them,
Read them, recite.
But I can't force it,
Never, not quite.


When they appear,
Behind my eyes.
They scream to come out,
My pen, it cries.


Writing quickly,
Before it is lost.
Onto the paper,
At any cost.


Many a poem,
I have forgotten.
Driving my car,
Trying to remember, I'm rotten.


Home I get,
And sit to write.
Out of my head,
The poem took flight.


Gone somewhere,
I never know,
Until once again,
It decides to show.