This is by no means a masterpiece and it's not meant to be one. I just wrote a simple poem while eating breakfast. Tell me what you think.
A blank page.
White, like ice,
glinting
In the dead of night.
A full pen.
Still, like a loner,
impatient,
yearning for a purpose.
A tired poet.
Thoughtful like a scholar
waiting
for the words to flow.
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