Seventeen Dowdell Poet Rhyme

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

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