I was told to write a poem
With a special theme in mind.
I thought writing would be simple.
And the theme, easy to find.
So I sat there with my pencil
Staring at an empty page.
All my words were being blocked,
My thoughts, inside a cage.
It was like standing in a desert
But the end you couldn’t see.
It was like swimming in an ocean
That went on infinitely.
I was a mime inside a box
Trying to break free of my chains.
But my mind was fully blank
And its freedom seemed inane.
And as I slowly closed my book
My mind began to think again.
The inability to write
Was the theme used in the end.
