There Was Nothing Left To Write

THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT TO WRITE There was nothing left to write Everything had already been written And was being written over again and again By thousands elsewhere- There was nothing left to write And nothing new to say - And no need for anything he had to give- It was over for him as a writer Whether he accepted it or not- No one would ever need or want anything he could do again- And so when he despite all this still wrote It seemed to many simply pathetic- The obsessive reflex of an already lost soul- Who wrote and wrote and wrote Who writes and writes and writes Who cannot stop However senseless all he does, is.