The unexplainable, bubbling sensation,
Of staring at a blank doc searching.
They call it young writer’s frustration
But I call it creativity yearning,
For answers that can’t be found.
The longer I look the harder it gets.
Isn’t it profound,
The more I see the more I forget.
That I’m a writer with skill,
With the pen as my powerful weapon.
Yet I lack the will,
To get the last two lines of this poem done.