Images swirl around in my head
As I try to conjure up one that'll stick.
To many thoughts roaming around
To make heads or tales of separate ideas;
It feels as though I have nothing left to write.

Pondering what I could do,
To make sense of the mess in my brain.
A change in scenery, new paint
In which to create a new world.
Yet even then, I find my block
Not only to be in writing
But in every form I use to create things.

What is left to do, yet sit and wait?
With pen at hand and paper near,
I hope that soon, the words will form;
That sentence after sentence a story will unfold.
With stroke of pencil, a picture will form.