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.