Always Thinking Of Something

A Sonnet about trying to think of something to write a Sonnet about.

A blank mind is not colourless as snow, 

it does not halt or trip, or hold just as
still as an armless, stone figure on show.
Air is not all that frequents there, nor has
a pin been dropped and heard by the many
nameless, faceless hopes that lurk so close to
my fingers, restlessly wanting any
spark to flare up and set them off anew.

My blank mind is just crazy colours and
rushing traffic, desperate to get free all
at once. So fast my mind goes blank, my hand
stops still. In that moment, I hit a wall.
Now I wish my blank mind was colourless,
not such a complicated game of chess.