A blank screen in front of me,
I don’t know what to write.
If a thought would come to be,
I’d smile out of glee,
However, the screen remains white.
Countless thoughts evade my grasp,
And yet, I only need one.
The ideas I form never last,
I try to work, but alas,
This poem still isn’t done.
The screen is like a plot of land,
The poem written, being the city.
Though it won’t be quick by hand,
You can try to make something grand,
Yet if it never starts it’d be a pity.
A blank screen in front of me
Klement silo