My thoughts run sprints
My mind won't slow down
But when pen's put to paper
No phrases can be found

I knock on their door
But the words won't come out
Locked in their room
They just laze and pout

Inspiration's still here
But my muse has gone mute
Its stubborn vow of silence
Renders my thoughts moot

It's not mere writer's block
I'd say it's more radical
My poetry has decided
To take a sabbatical