I have my concept for the poem, which hitherto shall go unstated until further notice (you know exactly why Rain; don't act all surprised when you read this) but my efforts to write have been stifled by my greatest enemy, that bully which has pushed me to my limits my whole life: the creative process. Honestly, you'd think it would be easier trying to get words to rhyme with each other, yet no matter how I try, my prose sounds as though it were written by a colt with a speech impediment, whose selfsame speech impediment somehow carries over into his writing. I envy those spoony bards who I've seen cavorting about, filling the air with song in preparation for the festivities. How do the words come so easily to them?
Addendum: I've been informed that poems don't necessarily have to rhyme. For reference material as to how poems of this type are written, the king has provided me with a book of poetry as written by Lord Sombra the second, Duke of Nigra Beliza. The content is rather dark and depressing, but the quality of prose is incomparable.
Note: My use of the word stifle earlier has shifted something in my mind, Perhaps by tomorrow I'll have remembered what my father said.