I rubbed my aching, drained eyes
and stared at the paper.
I knew, 
that if I stared at it long enough,
nothing would appear.
I moved my eyes to the stick of #2 lead,
covered by a sheet of yellow painted wood.
I hovered it above my paper,
and told it to write.
But it failed.
My page was still blank.
I dropped my hand and let it fall to my lap.
I stared at it for a moment,
then sighed.
Maybe tomorrow,
I told myself.
Maybe tomorrow I'll write that poem, 

maybe tomorrow will be better.



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