Writer's Block

Sitting here in the front of my window,
I think to myself what is that compels me,
To be here with a pen and paper?

Is it the story that is doing rounds in my head
Or the article on a topic I feel strongly about?
Or maybe it is the poet in me that wishes to express himself.

Should I write about the big sun in the sky,
Or about the white moon, small in comparison,
Waiting around the corner for its turn?

Should I write about the dream I had last night,
Or about the incident that happened yesterday,
Reality or something that makes your mind soar?

Should I write about the harsh realties of life,
Or build castles in air,
Enabling someone to live in them?

Should I write about the wind in my hair,
Or the tree that fell outside my home today,
Broken by the relentless gusts of air?

My mind fills up with images,
Images of my childhood,
Images that fill volumes.

But alas my hand as ever,
Poised in front of the paper with touching it,
Gripping the pen with force.

What should I write about?
Other than writing a poem,
About not being able to write?