Have you ever felt that this would be last time you do something that is close to you? Like perhaps - "this would be the last song I'll sing"... or "This would be the last time I'll dance".. or "Today would be the last time I cook something special for someone I love".. I felt something like this today.. I felt like it would be the last time I'll write poetry.. I suddenly felt that the creative juices have run dry.. That theres nothing more left to write about.. It was a scary thought..
He sits with a pen in hand,
the paper as vacant as his mind..
I know this silent poet from an era gone by,
I try not to think, but he distracts my eye..
When is it you laughed, oh stranger?
When is it you felt and cared?
Tell me, oh spring! when you heard him last,
This stone cold boy from my wooded past?
He can stand it no more and picks up the knife,
I can feel his slimy blood - his last poem..
As cold metal touches cold skin, I laugh
He's left me nothing to write but this bloody epitaph..
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