Unwritten

I want to write a poem.
I want my pen to, with each stroke,
lift the weight of burden
that has my weary mind searching for the words
to set my soul free,
to, like birds,
fly away from this island of darkness
that has held my smiles hostage
to hopelessness.

I want, like tears,
the ink to release some thing
that will make the turning in my stomach stop
and the shaking in my peace end,
but instead,
I sit staring blankly
with this pen in my hand.