Is this the end? The ink in my pen is dry,
or should I say, has kicked against
making visible scrawls?

My doors have been unlocked,
and my house infiltrated by distractions.

Facebook, Twitter, painted my walls blue,
at my every turn the light beckons,
then the pen is pocketed like my last coin;
touched only to verify its presence,
and my pad is tossed like a torn short.

This pen is revolting, yes?
Every ship without a devoted captain
crashes on collision with the first
rock it hits, no?

Is this the end, then?
Perhaps, this counts as penance
for the times I treated my woman
like a muddy child running to a Neatnik
when I should've made her me.

Or is this good old Writersblock,
back from the gym, a dozen pounds
added to his wiry frame,
standing, arms crossed, black bags under his eyes
from waiting to kick me out of the
little room from where I sniff my muse?

Is this the end, then?
Should I be worried or should I gladly return
to the burdenless state,
lost in the colours of my house?


© Jigs Lionheart

I know for certain this isn't the end Jigs.

J2381:
I know for certain this isn't the end Jigs.

I hope it isn't. Really hope so.

Wow.This is well-written and thought provoking piece sizzling with simple but very powerful rhetorical questions, personifications(that of writer's block is very freshening) e.t.c Kudos to the writer and NO it is not the end;Your pen will still overflows with ink.

Thales01:
Wow.This is well-written and thought provoking piece sizzling with simple but very powerful rhetorical questions, personifications(that of writer's block is very freshening) e.t.c Kudos to the writer and NO it is not the end;Your pen will still overflows with ink.

Thank you, good Sir!

Hmmm,I wonder too,if this is the end of my poetry abilities