If a poet had no words, would he leave his poem blank?

I'm not sure about what, but I feel like writing. The emptiness of my thoughts and emotions of the current moment pouring out onto a page. How would that appear? Would a poet, with nothing to write, leave a poem blank?Would a person, with no thoughts on the day, leave a blank page in their journal?If one has no words, one should not speak, yet they do.We carry on conversations without thought sometimes, why do we find words when we have others around.How come sometimes we have no words if there's one certain person in our midst?Maybe it's not that we are at a loss of words, or thought, but that somehow in the translation from thought to sound, it's lost. Perhaps we're not sure how to express ourselves, or how to...well yes express ourselves. Perhaps part of the thought is lost in the thought process, then more is lost in the translation to speech or written hand.Young children speak their minds though, and they know exactly what they mean and what they think. What has happened as we age?Is it that their thoughts are so simplistic that they pass through the channels running from thought to speech so easily without obstruction?Perhaps it is the mere fact that we are hiding ourselves from the world. That we continue to mask who we really are, that we begin to subconsciously filter our thoughts before they are exposed. Then they are not our thoughts at all. They are simply what we wish society to see. Look around you one day and notice, everyone looks "normal". If you were to see someone off beat, wouldn't you think a bit negatively of them?It's this reaction that we fear. As human beings we crave to be loved. Even by complete strangers to some form or level. There are times when we can truly be ourselves. Around other people, or when we are by ourselves. When we put time aside to be with God.Some of us have learned to be ourselves no matter what. Maybe that is why so many people are captivated by poetry.The poets have learned to reveal the nakedness of their thoughts, hearts, souls.
A poet would never leave his poem blank. He would fill his poem with the emptiness of his thoughts. Which in turn, would no longer be emptiness