The words come to an end
The dreaded fear awakes
Sneaking in under the door
Slithers smoothly like a snake
I never heard and never saw
As it slowly made its way
My frozen art was eaten raw
Till it slowly died away
The malady unknown to me
Until that fateful day
I cannot write a single word
There is nothing I can say
I tried and tried until I tired
To make a poem, or write a play
And cried and cried, until the Night
Has come and taken over Day
The pen that's had its final run
Slowly dries away
The haunting smell of drying ink
A scent of better days
And so I scribble a final line
As the poet makes a final stand
But the poet cries and the poems die
For Art has left the land
