The Creative Process

Am I a man to be called a poet?
A master of imagery and rhyme?
Well, now, here it is, my chance to show it
Get going, start now; do not waste this time.
But where does one start? I’m no longer sure.
Put pen to the paper and let the words out?
My mind now is empty, its blankness is pure
And worse, I find I am filled with self-doubt.
Did I really see me, a weaver of song?
My mind must be addled: a ludicrous notion!
Accept the plain truth, it’s all going wrong.
Give some new idea my ardent devotion.
Truly I would wager my life upon it
There’s no god damn way I can write a sonnet.