When often as the words don’t flow,
The mind can question why,
And fingers hanging stiff and low,
Pass the cold keys by
Writer’s block is some greater thing,
A wall, perhaps a castle
Within which dwells an evil king,
Who makes each thought his vassal
The stronghold takes a mighty force
To overcome its walls,
Until the kingdom runs its course,
Just silence fills its halls
But victory shall glorious break
Through dull and solid walls,
And over rubble, new claims to make,
Inspiration strolls
