I fear I am almost out of words
And soon the day will come when I,
Am forced to give my pencil rest,
And let the writer in me die

Too often I am overwhelmed,
With thoughts that I cannot manifest,
Into rhymes or stanzas so they,
Remain heavy upon my chest.

It hurts to hold a pencil in hand,
And wait for the lines to pour out,
But none ever do, and I can't help,
But wonder what caused this self-doubt.

I want to create a masterpiece,
Yet I lack the skills required,
And at one point I would have tried,
But now I'm weak and growing tired.

It's hard but I don't have the time,
Or can't find the inspiration,
To climb out of the rut I am in,
And overcome this exasperation.

Each year I grow and change around,
Slowly through the day and night,
But I never thought I could lose,
The part of me that's able to  write.