I see a blank page and know it should be filled
Lately my hand has become quite unskilled
I know not what to write, nothing comes to mind
I sit there at night, looking, not to find
Am I alone in possessing this trait
I can no longer procrastinate
I need to tell you those platitudes in song
Written in hope were all wrong
Love, they said, was the cure
Just not hating would longer endure
If you are a realist you will know it is impossible
We cannot execute this simple parable
This is the latest my mind has instilled
My feat is accomplished, the page hath been filled
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