Frantically walking up and down
unable to settle down at one place,
comfort of the chair too uneasy
mind chatters at a rapid pace.

Trying to put pen to paper
the words won't come out,
putting thoughts into perspective
seems to be an endless bout.

Days run into nights
time becomes irrelevant,
nothing substantial yields
even as the writer galavant.

In a perennial quest for the right words
the writer goes through a lot,
not a good place to be in
where the ideas just rot.

Damned to be stuck in the writer's block
but not doomed for life,
the words shall flow again
and put an end to all the strife.