Not 'The End'

The ride is over The time has come Theres no more to write Everything has been done The last page is full The ink is dry It's hard to think It's hard to concentrate A minute goes by Still nothing comes to mind But I keep going The poem gets longer I start to write faster Thoughts turn into sentences and sentences into lines So in a way, The page might be filled The ink might be dry But out there Somewhere A book lays open Waiting to be filled of love, of hate, of joy of pain, So again I say, The book is over The ink is dry Theres more to come Though even more to hide. End