The Blank Page
Silent is the night as I stare upon the blank page,
marveling what radiance may come by thy pen.
Worried thy mind might be trapped within a cage,
as silenced poets were no longer the wiser men.
Blocked from this world, sheltered from all life,
I languish for daylight while pining for new hope.
The struggles nag thy brain like a hateful wife,
stressed to bring about work of immense scope.
It should not feel this hard, never this strained,
words should want to flow out of thee like a river.
Rather than feeling this confined, this restrained,
fearing not a word shall ever run off thy quiver.
Art like life is difficult to drag forth into the light,
as one must keep fighting and continue to write.
