Oh, the reality of the things that is
And, what could be?
Those things, which are inscribed
Upon the tables of my heart:
Yet, inexpressive of my thoughts
To of which and when,
My Writers' Block departs
Seated at my desk, is where I shall be
To create again
Relieve me of this hollowness,
This absence, this emptiness and void
Dub thee begetter of words
Persuade my inventiveness
To Produce & Cultivate
That I may give birth to a poem.