Creative Constipation

In this whole world of inspiration, a barrier I now face, It is an ailment of the mind, of brain waves so encased, It’s like a constipation, but of my thoughts and memes, My muse is now held captive until rationale intervenes. I stared at the blank screen; my mind was a barren land, Seeking the right words, like spying gold flecks in a pan, But, they eluded my grasp, like water through a screen, Leaving me with emptiness like, ne’er poet’s ever seen. My imagination, ’twas once a river, flowing fast and free, Now, feels like a drought; I am a wasted, lifeless zombie, I yearned so long for that spark, that poetic instigation, That’ll break the blockage of, my creative constipation. I turned to nature’s inspiring beauty, even to art and song, Hoping to find some solace, where all my thoughts belong, For in these precious moments, my mind it ceases to race, The floodgates open wide, releasing potent laxative apace. So I’ll await the breaking dawn, the longest kiss goodnight, When the constipation eases, and my words again take flight, For in the stoppage and the struggle, I will find my salvation, And break these mental chains of this creative constipation.