I sit and set my pen in motion
a needle pulls thread through cloth of verse
unseen masses written and spoken in my mind
but the page is wanting.
My mind steals all of my ideas
and takes them in like blissful gluttons
who consume everything but plates and porcelain
and my page is vacant.
Some day I will fill my page
and eat no bites of script or prose
I will not preach or teach the words I have placed down
and though inked, my page will contain nothing I value.