Blank

Blank

 

I sit in my seat

and stare at a blank sheet of paper.

An assignment to write a poem fills into my ears

and reaches my brain.

I have everything I need.

Paper,

pencil,

pens,

erasers,

but no idea.

 

 

I can write about anything,

but nothing comes to mind.

I can write about my dog,

my brother,

sweet potatoes,

or even good memories that remind me

of a simpler time.

But

those ideas are boring.

 

 

Who would read a poem about dogs?

Or cats?

Etc.

I know I certainly would not.

Its time to change poem writing,

forever.

 

No stanzas,

no rhyming,

no topics,

no boring poems

at all.

I will change the history of poems forever.

But, I do not know what to write about.

 

 

I think really hard to find an idea.

OH! I got a great idea…

And the topic is gone,

roaming in my brain with other forgotten things.

Once,

and if, I remember it again,

I will think how stupid it was.

 

 

That’s what’s wrong with poems.

If they do not have an interesting topic,

why bother to read.

I just want to write a wonderful poem

that everybody would love to read.

I could do that,

if only I had a topic.

 

 

I think to myself as hard as I can.

Who cares on what other people think of my poem?

I will write it how I love it.

But just to me,

I don’t care for average topics.

Why relive something I barely remember

and is just blank to me.

 

 

I stare at my blank sheet of paper.

Mocking me with nothing on it,

as I think hopelessly,

in my seat,

staring down.

                                                ZT SIMMONS