Will There Come a Time
i wonder if there'll come a time
when i forget how to rhyme
when the pen in my hand
no longer writes
when the ideas that i have
are no longer fresh
when the thoughts that are tossed
i no longer catch
when all that remains
is the blank of the page
and the drive i once had
is long in the grave
with the flow running low
as far as poetry goes
leaving the rhymes behind
like a bum on skid row
when all that is left
is the hunger once had
replaced by a hole
that no longer beats in the chest
what would i do
if all this comes true
and have you also thought
that it could happen to you...
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