My Pen

my mind is blank the pen is writing nothing I have covered the left and right flank where is the beauty I’m hoping close my eyes and let go trying to let the white and blue lines excite my mind remember how the pen used to flow has my life stopped or is it just behind thinking of all the poets and when their minds hit the wall what is that they create could be spring, summer, winter or fall or could be nothing at all but this morning the pen is writing