I always find it hard
To write poems.

Poems are beautiful
And magical
And free
And make you feel
Something.
Anything.
Happiness,
Sadness,
Terror,
Comfort,
Anything you want.

But what if you feel
Empty?
Like you have
Nothing
To say? And you
Can’t think, so you
Stare
And stare
And stare
At a blank page,
Desperate
For inspiration,
For a muse,
For anything!
And you sit back
And sigh,
Discouraged,
Disheartened.

And you look around
And see
A little yellow flower
In a little glass vase
With sugar in the water
So it can live longer
And you realize...something.
You could write so many poems
About that little yellow flower,
Write so many views
Of that little, yellow flower,
Have so many thoughts
For that little, yellow flower,
That hey...

Maybe poems
Aren’t so hard
After all.