Consider being in a desert
In bare arid desolate, lonely
Abandoned without any resource
All around you a vast eternity
Emptiness, not any living in sight
Terror and anxiety and fear
Of your fate, your end destiny
You have lost all your virtue
You are lost and it hurts you

Vast emptiness, without any edges
Like an ocean, without any shores
You don't even find in you the urge
To go farther, it seems to be no hope

This is how the writers feel
When their mind is empty, clear
Writers' block has stroke them
There seem that it has no end
The virtue of writers is only
Their creative mind nothing more
When it's all clear and empty
No hope remains, terror comes.