My Hidden Words

Sometimes, there’s nothing to write about
And the only thing that gives you any inspiration
Is the blank page in front of you,
Waiting to be let out

Waiting to be painted, decorated
Perfected with your own words
Waiting to be alliterated
And to have purpose

Waiting for something to happen.
In your own life
That makes you want to write
About all your strife

A simple thought
A perfect design
The words that I’ve sought
I know that they’re mine

They’re mine alone
By themselves on this page
Adorned and bedecked
With my thoughts of rage…