The page is blank,
And I'm not writing,
Words have failed me,
This feels like dying.
Left with no inspiration,
Alone with an empty head,
Trying to find the words,
Looking back at the ones I've said.
Maybe I've written too much,
And I have no more words to say,
Maybe this will be my last poem,
Maybe this will end today.
But now I realize what is true,
As I look out at the pouring rain,
Painters get inspiration from their eyes,
Poets get it from their brains.
And now I see the words I've written,
Looking at my beautiful revelation,
Words have appeared upon the page,
And that is my inspiration.
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