Do you know that feeling you get

When you're sitting before a keyboard or paper

Modern or good old-fashioned

And nothing will come?

There's a million and one things

Bustling about in your mind, wondering when

They're going to come into existence

By your hands.

I see a winged scarf, a diary full of holes, and 

Polka dots sprinkling the viridescent garden

That's somehow becoming

Scarlet and lavender.

Imagine your imagination as something other than a key,

Since that's cliché; it's a steamroller that paves the path

Through a clustered mind and you travel the road

Marveling at its smoothness.

But that machine breaks, and when it does

You need to start it up again, or jump to a different metaphor

And keep the exercise ball rolling

Because it gives your creativity a great workout.

So, if you read into any and all randomness

You'll realize you have something to say, even if

You don't realize it and nothing comes to mind readily made,

Then you're afflicted by "writer's block."