DEAD BEE

The dead bee lays still,
My unused ink in the quill.
Words lay dormant in my mind,
My heart confined.

Pages blank and untouched,
Ideas lost, crumpled, and crushed.
The muse has fled, the well dry,
My soul left to die.

The world awaits my art,
Yet I cannot make a start.
The blank page mocks my plight,
As I struggle to ignite.

My pen poised in mid-air,
My heart filled with despair.
I cannot find the rhyme,
As I sit here frozen in time.

The dead bee reminds me,
Of a...