The writer's block Jabberwock
Came to my home last week
I stood and stared at it in shock
Not expecting such a beast.
Its tail brushed against my face
I noticed something weird
In my head an empty space
My inspiration disappeared.
Ideas still swarmed in my mind
But they only served as a bother
I was incapable of true writing
Like a plagiaristic author.
I cried out in total misery
I'd heard of this great beast
But never had I stopped to think
That it would torture me.
I soon called up my English teacher
Desperately wanting to know
How to rid myself the creature
Or my sanity would go
He told me in a simple manner,
"I warn you this will cause dismay."
He did not give the desired answer.
"Just wait 'til it goes away."
I would not stand for all of this!
The beast, it had no right
To just show up and casually dismiss
My ability to write.
I needed a weapon
An appropriate tool
To rid all mankind
Of the Jabberwock's rule.
I took my fountain pen in hand
And held my keyboard as a shield
Hoping that they would well withstand
The writers' battlefield.
I stepped into the warm daylight
And saw the giant beast
It towered high above my height
My bravery decreased.
With a breath, I closed my eyes
And ran directly ahead
The creature screeched; I realized
The Jabberwock was dead.
The wound was unimpressive
A dot of blood and ink
So know this now, dear readers
It's not as strong as you might think.