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what am I to do when I have nothing to write?
shall I wait for my pen to write on its own?
how can I wait for ideas to tell themselves on this paper?
why are there too many topics in which to write, but no strategy or plan?
why can I not write as much as other poets do?
sometimes as a poet I wonder, what is it that I'm supposed to do?
I don't know what to write. Therefor, I scribble on this page.
He is holding your son
His work here is done
I know it feels like a gun
To your chest but it was for the best
As you cry and cry i will stand by your side
And wipe the tears from your eyes
When your ready he will call you home where you can run to your son
And your job will be done...
Written by Samantha
we are poets
not everything planned;
we write with passion
and speak meaningful words in lines between
maybe you don't understand;
so for all of you askin'
what our poems mean
just go on about your thinking
because this, my friend,
is nothing other than a poet's beginning.
Word doodling for the night.
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