Blank Page

October 1, 2017

Flat on my back I lay,

Staring at the blank page before me.

Words march through my tired head,

but all of them I have either heard or read.

Sometimes I think I have and original thought,

but before long I find that it’s not.

My head has become such a mess,

that I can’t sort out the truth from the rest.

I am at loss for words to write,

So I’ll just cut it short, and call it a night

Something wrong with this poem?

Replies are closed for this poem.

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.