Blank Pages

Blank Pages

I gripped my pen so tight, my knuckles grayed,
My fear of failure more than what it should,
I paused above the lines, an inch away - 
What if the mark I made was not that good?

There’s nothing harder than the first step took,
To make the choice you know you need to make.
On anxiousness, I could write many books.
My confidence was never more than fake.

So now my will to write put to the test
As forceful efforts ended up in vain.
The words play in my mind but only jest
As none will form into coherent strains.

But then, I think, “So what if this makes sense?”
The words need out, I need to write them down.
These pens I choose are nothing more than vents
For senseless verbs and adjectives and nouns.

Perhaps with skill those senseless words could make
A masterpiece of art to be enjoyed.
But even if my style did not take
My readers read the words I can’t avoid.

No longer gripping pen, I was relaxed
And in my head the words slowed down to form
Some phrases, lines and sentences – syntax.
Instead of feeling cold, my hand was warm.

I stared down at the blankness of the page,
My fear of marring perfect paper gone.
No longer were my thoughts locked in their cage,
My pen flowed brilliant colors of the dawn.

I made a choice not knowing what would be,
My brushstroke permanent upon the board.
No matter what would happen, I’d be me –
A stronger me because I dared to soar.


Author’s Notes

This poem of 8 quatrains (32 lines) is written in Iambic Pentameter and reflects the feeling I have of Writer’s Block, which is something that many of the readers reading this poem have experienced as well. How do YOU experience Writer's Block?