Poem of Writing

I find myself holding a pen and staring at a blank page. Again & Again & Again. My mind just as blank as the page I am staring at. When my mind fills with words, the page that was blank becomes filled as well.

I'm describing the process of writing as you might have guessed. As simply as it may sound, it is one of human's hardest quest. Because rather it is now or then, stone or paper, only words that are worthy should fill the page's void.

For writers the page is no different than a painter's canvas or a desolate space to an architect. We want our words to connect to your imagination. The two together painting a picture that even the world's greatest artist couldn't replicate.

He who writes easily is someone that is fine filling a blank page with empty words. For us who write there is no worse tragedy. For when we write the page turns red. For our heart is on each line.