Perpetual Nudging

What's with this nudging This perpetual nudging Coming from deep within Urging me to write a poem A poem of feelings Rhythm and imagery- And believe me I'm happy, willing and able Grasping for words, perhaps Phrases with iambic pentameter But I'm so spaced out There's nothing there. Wholly concerned I swivel my eyes Back to front, dramatically Looking within my Spaced out mind- Scrutinizing eyes Probing the many folds Of gray matter and Arteries with scarlet Oxygenated blood The veins deep purple Flushed delicate pink It's quite extraordinary really This internal intangible world There's no particular block Of sorts, no glitches In the brain wiring No dead words, no requiem In progress I should be able to Write captivating stanzas With colorful, heartfelt words But there's nothing stirring No angst residing in me Nothing bothersome Nothing boiling and bubbling Nothing provoking me externally. So what's with this nudging This perpetual nudging To sit down and write a poem Could this one be the one Nudging? © 2015 Denise Morgan?