I look at the blank page
That is inviting me to write
I have a whirlwind of feelings
But no words to describe
I look for an emotional story
But nothing comes to mind
This is the time that the poet
Doesn't know what else to write
Lost his power to turn
Everything easier with a dozen rhymes
And a not so happily ever after ending
Now asks the poet
If the rhymes ran way or were stolen
Stolen by those who never read or value them
And so the poet stayed
With a blank sheet and a troubled soul