And that's how it's done

The strangest thing about writing is that you cant force yourself to do it. Sitting here peacefully in a corner of this big hall with just four other people does not help. The skill to write may not be possessed by all, but even those who can write cannot always.
There is a frame of mind, a flow of thought, a stimulating event. But with none of the above its just a blank page and an empty mind, or rather a wandering mind with no thoughts to pen.
That's how I feel right now. Even the most peace and quiet cannot help me. In fact a little action is called for to stimulate me to write. With none of that happening I just sit and wonder, allow my mind to wander. Maybe something fascinating will come to my mind that will make an interesting write-up.
At such times I feel its easier to compose poetry because for me rhyming of words keeps me occupied. And all I need to write a poem is the strong domination of one emotion that flows.
Anything can act as a catalyst to write a poem. A light breeze, birds chirping, the rain, an old couple walking, and from there the words roll.
Surprisingly the same things are not good enough to write an article. They could be good to set a mood to start a thought process about something to write, but on its own the setting is useless. Maybe because an article calls for a specific topic, a beginning, a middle and an end. An appropriate introduction and a satisfying conclusion. Which a poem doesn't.
A poem is felt and empathised with, and then forgotten but an article always stays with us. Or rather atleast intends to. The after effect of a poem is always that it was beautiful, that we experienced an emotion, but you don't remember the poem as such.
An article on the other hand is based on facts, situations, impressions, opinions and something or the other usually sticks with the reader.
So I am now ending my futile attempt to an article with a poem:

LONG AGO
I held on too tight
And when it began to hurt,
I said that you weren't letting go
When actually you had left quite long ago.

Sitting in the dark I couldn't see,
How there were so many people around me,
Waiting to take me home.
But all I could do was stare at the door,
From where you had left so long ago.

Grief came and went,
When it became too much, tears came, I wept.
Thinking of how is was together
With pain and fear, but even then so real.
Far from perfect but it was so dear
Before you decided to leave forever.

I let it fall later, I let it go,
Watched it crash in the darkness below,
Burnt it until the ashes too flew.
With nothing left but a pungent odour,
One that passed when sweet winds blew.
I watch at peace, as the river now flows
Glad that you decided to leave so long ago.