Art. You can't stop making any when you have it at heart.

That's why the hate of the block

So, sometimes it helps to take a walk

And bring your stuff in case it is gone.



Not always is seems, quite sadly.

At least you would have burned some energy.

And won't feel so bad to lay down.

Maybe this time it will come on?



At last something comes in mind

The ideas flow in your head like vines

But the time is again against you

It's nighttime, your bed awaits you.



The dawn brings you a new light

Your paint and your brush will fly and stain

But suddenly a rock fall into your pond

The block is back and so your pain.



Finally in the midday all is bright

Your boiling mind is melting it like ice

And after walks and talks your art is new

But liking it yourself is another problem too.



Couldn't help it. Wonderful work