I long to write,
I seek inspiration,
But again,
Neither hide nor hair.
The pages are empty,
Emptier than a blanker's heart.
My pen awaits to write again,
Till the ink runs dry.
I walk down the streets of Ideas,
But they are empty and
Dry as a wooden god.

I search,
I'm in need for inspiration.
In this world I find nothing,
Null, zilch, void,...