Writer's Block

Creativity, the weapon of my choice,
In its sheath for a period too long,
Awaiting an inspiration, As much as a noise,
To not let these feelings prolong!

I walked on thro' crowded streets,
Conversed with a discordant few,
Gouged out my eyes for enormous fleets,
And buried my inhibitions on a pew!

Strained my neck staring at the sky,
At the flight of a boisterous bevy,
Obscure interpretations flash by,
Over flooding sanity's levee!

Hither and thither my mind scurries,
Paranoid I start to trot,
Though in my mind a million worries,
Still none to inspire a rhythmic plot!

A spark I seek even underneath,
The salinity of the dead sea,
A spur to destroy the parasitic sheath,
Just a push would set me free!