Empty pages, here I am again
Trying to squeeze my mind in pain.
I need to produce words that rhyme
That are as lovely as the pendulum’s chime.
It has been an hour seriously spent,
But no meaning beautifully meant.
What will I do now at this point in time
When words won’t come out like creeping vines?
Emotions, where are you when I truly need you?
Please come out now and carry my waterloo.
I need to compose a sentence from words
That will define the creation of different worlds.
Illusion, when will I even see you
Dance your way to my mind’s cue?
For you are the element that would give accord
To a poet like me before I abort.
Vision, where will you be headed?
My sight hasn’t yet been truly mended.
Inputs won’t become outputs once and for all
When you neglect me even as I experience fall.
When shall I complete this empty page
When my silence won’t even engage
In a creative fight of words and rhymes
That shall produce this new poem of mine?