These Words

I sit and stare at the page at hand,
and see the words I wrote, so bland.
To pen my thoughts, to have my say,
to express myself, there is no way.

How can I get my message through
when all I have are words so few?
Can stains of ink to you convey
feelings which are hard to say?

These words I put here by myself
could fill volumes upon the shelf.
In the end, just words and nothing more,
each the same as the one before.

It makes no difference which words I choose,
picked by me or inspired by muse,
words that rhyme are all they'll be,
not the feelings that are inside of me.

Though I try and try every day,
I make attempts to find a way
to push my thoughts out through my pen
but all I do is fail again.

For all the effort that I put out,
one thing I know beyond a doubt,
mere shadows of feelings yet to be,
are these words that come from inside of me.

Paul Allen Rice