bicycleofthoughts

I am sitting here, hoping to write a poem
I look for my pen, and find another
The words won’t change meaning, I think
It’s me who fills meaning into words, not the pen
But the words won’t come out, I am stuck
I am just tapping my finger on the table
Looking at the paper which is half filled
A feeling of emptiness comes over me
And then a feeling of fear
Will I be able to write again?
A masterpiece that I always craved
It has a beginning but there seems no end
What is the meaning of this?
I was sitting here, hoping to write a poem
I looked for a word, and found another
The words have changed meaning, I know
It’s words that fill meaning into me, and the feelings.