Lately I start to write and nothing comes to mind
I walk away, feeling ashamed of what I've left behind.
A blank piece of paper, lonely
Because I couldn't find the words
Nothing that was right.
But my head swims with ideas
I can't move them from my mind.
I have no idea how to make them form,
to make them take a line.
So I dribble in a tiny peom
of my writing ways and woes
At least April is poetry month,
and my babble has a home.