Hobo Moon

Writing these poems is rather difficult you see. 
Like climbing a mountain or wrestling a shark.
Searching in the dark for the right words to say
just what you are thinking.
Searching for the words to say exactly how you feel
without losing any rhythm or zeal.

What do you do when you cannot think of a rhyme?
What happens when you have not got the time?
Do you sit down and pout? 
Do you ask a boy scout?
I prefer to take the more scenic route.

Howling at the moon,
I know I will find myself soon
written into a poem, and
from this world, I shall be forgotten.