Poem With A Question Mark

I sit down
And put my pen to the paper
And ink flows just like molasses
And slows my thoughts
To the point of sheer frustration.
It makes me rip my paper up and start again.
Now, what I’ve realized is
I can’t write a poem
And have no knowledge of prose
Nor rhyming structure;
I’ve got no story. No muse.
Just senseless, meaningless
Words on paper.
Beautiful words,
But that’s all that they are
My words will most definitely not sink ships,
Or push armies,
Or move mountains,
Or even tougher yet,
Move hearts,
Move thoughts,
Move minds,
Move hands to write more.
How I wish I could inspire,
But my words just don’t move.
Hopefully not permanent,
I hope my words will do more
Than sit in a one-hundred and thirty page notebook.
I hope they conduct symphonies of thought
And make people speak out;
I mean, speak for or against it,
But for God’s sake
Speak out.

What else can we possibly hope to do in life
But hope to inspire?