Dark and blank
Blocked
Dense
Never-ending
Like a night sky devoid of twinkling stars
 

Was this what it felt like,
The end of creativity?
 

We got the assignment
To write a serious poem on
Something we feel passionate about
 

But what of those of us who feel passionate about things,
About life,
About cows,
About Jesus Christ,
About writing and cherries,
About sleep,
And chocolate,
And karate,
And yet can not construct a poem
If our lives depended on it?
 

I, to stress the severity of this hindrance,
This painful block of creativity,
Cannot even write a poem
On how I cannot write a poem.
 

A feverish sigh,
A grunt,
A clench of teeth,
A pressing of the temples
 

It is the ramblings of a person
Who cannot write poems—
And such leads one to ask:
 

Will this end of creativity
Never end?