Another Fine Day - Poem

I could write about a lot of things Sometimes nothing at all. The voices in my head sending signals to my hand Mind although still searching for inspiration When pen touches paper with hope oh so grand My words, like meditation. It solves nothing Yet answers everything at once The question in first place Starts forming a sequence. A view in each corner of one's own mind Running clockwise to each other From times you have loved to times you have cried The views meet at centre. They do not have to magical The words you write Just express your feelings And what not, right? Shakespeare's every work was not a masterpiece Pablo didn't find perfection in every page All the Poets merely wrote there heart out There views now uncaged. A page may leave your confused A paragraph will give you variety Each sentence is unique in itself Every word is a mystery. I could write about a lot of things Sometimes nothing at all.