The Midnight Disease: The Drive to Write, Writer's Block, and the Creative Brain Book

It is midnight.
You've been searching, searching, searching,
down long hallways, past still and silent spaces,
finding nothing, nothing, nothing,
climbing flights and flights of stairs,
moving through galleries of images,
not what you're seeking,
turning corners, crossing passageways,
through blue rooms, through red rooms,
rooms with cupboards, rooms with shelves,
rooms with desks, rooms with drawers,
in one drawer, a gleam of gold,
just what you're seeking,
you turn it over and over,
you press it, you knead it,
but no,
it is too firm, too unyielding,
you want gem-like, yes, but soft, soft enough to shape,
you put it back, close the drawer,
leave the room, try next door,
in the gloom, a figure beckoning,
an old woman, haloed hair,
hands cupped, a gift she is offering,
a gift, soft as an unlaid egg,
you step back, you can't accept, too fragile,
you back out, close the door,
run up a stairs, the same stairs,
no, different stairs, the door at the top wasn't there before,
you open the door, a white room,
a little bundle lying in the corner,
you know what it is, you cannot approach,
no, no, no,
escape, escape,
down the staircase, two by two,
the staircase rising not descending,
rising, rising,
merging into a labyrinth,
a yellowish gleam in the distance,
an exit, around the corner,
no, no, no, not yet,
around the next,
further on, how much further,
you've turned this corner already,
you've been turning in circles, the spooky light just out of reach,
you hear drumming, louder and louder,
heart beat thrumming,
you crawl through a narrow canal,
emerging into a shell-like opening,
dawn is breaking,
but you have nothing to show for your night of brain storming,
nothing, nothing, nothing.

Wait.
In all the circling through the final passages,
you've been kicking something ahead of you,
something soft, pliable, amber-like,
a wwixnanirniggot

It will do, it will serve your present purpose.
You mould it into a more recognisable shape,
wwixningirnatgo
wixgnani writong.

Just another little tweak,
there, you've finally unplugged the midnight block.
You have created your very own
Waxing on Writing