The Nib of My Pen

Aghast I look deep into me
Again I see just the blank white space

Where are those words that use to torment me
Words that wished I write them down

Is life so frivolous to not write about
Or is it too fast that I am left behind

Enough is enough I tell myself
I open the cap of my true friend, my pen

“It has been long and the ink has dried up”
The Nib of my pen bitches about time

I touch at the Nib, It is indeed dry
I dip it in vodka to see if that works

As I look at the glass the vodka turns blue
The Nib dampens and opens its pore

It was not the ink that was to blame
The damn Nib was blocking its flow

Thoughts are always like the ink I now know
They never dry up with the passing of time

It is we who act like the crappy Nib
Blocking life of its beauty and flow
And whining about the fleeting time