Writer's Block

Inspired yet tired, wondering and musing,
Putting pen to paper proves extremely confusing.
Willing to express, but words won't appear,
Except as a jumbled mess, untidy and unclear.

Life experience, I believe, that is the key,
But even more incomprehensible than trigonometry.
At seventeen, seriously, I've nothing to say,
School, homework, hockey; the extent of my day!

I'm an idealist, I admit, an impractical dreamer,
But somehow just writing this makes my mind much clearer....
It's nerve wracking, it's flustering, frustrating and gutting,
Thoughts escape like diamonds, leaving me with nothing!

Sunsets, cherry blossoms, golden fields of grain,
The dew in the morning, the rejuvinating rain.
Old Irish myths told alongside a roaring campfire,
Tales to cause amusement, but also to inspire.

Oh, to write like Yeats! Pearse! Kavanagh or O' Casey,
Impossible now, but someday...maybe?
Not to earn recognition or praise, but simply to know,
That my opinions have bearing, they're not just for show.
,
Thoughts, take me away someplace, anywhere but here,
Though perhaps poetry is best left to modern Shakespeares.