There's a lock in my heart,
where my pen used to be.
There's a gate in my mind,
where the tint used to nest.

At nights wide awake,
I sleep but can't rest,
I wait for a line,
for a quote or a verse.

It's been many months,
and that block is still there,
have I lost the touch?
Have I lost my head?

It's driving my mad,
that I may write no more.
The words like a river,
entrapped by the dirt.

What happened to me?
Where did it all go?
How long have I slept?
And when will I wake?

It's odes and its prayers...
There's a lock on my door,
and to tell you the truth,
I can't write any more...