The blank page kept staring at me
As my pen refused to move
And there it was again, the emptiness.
It’s a familiar sight, I see it every night
As my head touches the pillow
And I shut my eyes ,
It looks like a dark pit, with nothing in it
Just the sound of distant whispers
Loud whispers of nothing, echoing in emptiness.
How does one put his vacantness on paper,
How do I write about that nothing on my mind?
No joy, no pain, shouldn’t I be calm like a monk?
Why the chaos then, why the chaos in this stillness?
Inspiration : How ironic that my inspiration for this piece is the lack of inspiration, the nothingness. A poem about not being able to write a poem, I think it’s funny in a way.
Poetry Copyright 2016, Opinionated Head