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The pen is mightier than the sword, but what happens when the pen runs out of ink?  So the words lose their meaning?  Or do they actually become stronger?  When the words stop flowing does the pen run dry?  Afflatus is surrounding me yet the page is blank.  The empty white spaces and blue lines stare back at me with deadness.  Even when the pen is finally united with paper nothing appears.  The black river that flowed so eloquently had run dry due to a long-standing drought.  What were once majestically towering trees, swaying with elegant grace in the howling wind have become merely trees.  Oh what a tragedy this is.  The world is more than just stick figure representations.  Trees see and the wind whispers soft nothings into your battered ear as you trudge down Commonwealth Avenue towards your next class.  The world lives, yet I cannot currently give it life.  A canvas such as this should be painted with the touch of a Picasso.  But what if Picasso is dead?  What if his best work has already been done?  Some time ago I put my chisel down and walked away from the slab.  I intended to never go back to the dark abyss that gave birth to such destruction and death.  Yet on cold nights, when it is eerily quiet, I hear the voice of fear calling my name.  She is the temptress of my soul.  Oh what history we have had, many nights spent together making sweet love.  Our passion was gripping and often mysterious.  We were young and ready to shock the world, but eventually everything fell apart.  But now that we have been apart for so long, I actually miss her.  Who knows if the fire of old can be rekindled or if a new flame will be lit.  What I do know is that rain clouds are on the horizon, so prepare yourself.  My bruised hand flies across the page with newfound intent.  The grooves on my pen brace against my hand like a warm hug from a long lost friend.  All becomes silent as the world is tuned out.  My weathered eyes scan the room with delicate precision.  My eyes lock onto a clock on the opposite side of the room.  It’s arms suspended in time, signaling me to come closer.  My mind starts to wander and flushes out all my worries and troubles.  Staring at the clock I find the first words and begin…..