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 *** 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...