A Short Poem

Write a short poem,
Says the set of instruction,
that I have created
for myself.
An imprisoned body, an imprisoned mind lacking in energy and motivation, and rich on time-
there's not a thought
right in my head
that would get me on the
poem-writing way...
So what do I do, except stare,
Stare ahead at the blank page nothing ahead, what to do ahead this is a pity, a sad state of affairs,
not a worth writing, from this head of grey hairs Calling a truce with myself,
there lies the only way
no poem's gonna be written,
not one on this day.
What to do but seethe and cope count on the stroke of luck, and hope for an idea, a senidge of spark,
to hit me...
As Britney rightly called it...
Hit me baby
one more time