When your mind is a labyrinth of ideas, ingenious and despairing
When the objects around you fail to inspire
When you hold the pen firm, but only fiddle with the page
When on your head, you ventilate your rage

It’s a distressing moment surely, for the inner soul
When lack of though causes havoc, which takes its toll
And all you end up doodling, is a blank scroll
As would-be ideas begin to scurry and roll

After an indefinite spell of time, the block should fade out
As words and sentences begin to frame in mind
As the abstract concept becomes a concept understood
And literary masterpieces return as an appreciated brood

And you receive praises for the marvels in your work
And criticism from the haters, to be taken as desired
But at least you toiled and made it large
Leaving indelible footprints, in the sands of literary brilliance