Unproductive

Unproductive
By: James Dubeau

As I sit here
Drinking a beer
The words do not flow
They do not pour
From these fingers
Upon these keys
Could it be
Due to the noise
Rippling from
The room next to me
Distracting me
From what I seek
Or could it be
Because I am tapped
And no more good
Can come from this mind
For all my ideas
Have found themselves
Upon the page
Leaving me an empty shell
With no more to say
Or could it just be
That it all was just a sham
And that my muse
Has been gunned down
Long ago
And her last
Dieing breath
Was for me to go on
Without her
Even though
I am nothing
Without the guidance
The direction
She provided me
Only time will tell
If things will change
And if it will be
That I may find another
My search will continue
Until the end of time
For a new muse
Must be
Has to be
At the bottom
Of one of these
Bottles