Writers block is a necessary evil; a wall that every writer involuntarily faces.   It is a brick wall that retains the cities water supply.  Each moment builds the wall and as time ticks by another brick is layered.
      As the wall grows, ideas, like drops of rain, touch the wall but have no effect on it.  It is a long time before a powerful idea comes along.  The idea is like acid rain; it slowly corrodes the layers of brick and before long the streets are flooded.  The people are trying to find higher ground climbing to the roofs of their homes.  A woman holds a telephone pole until her muscles numb.  A slow release of her arms is perfectly timed with the tears of her husband.  He sits on the roof with his daughter, clenched in arms that can never be broken.
       A creativity flood presents ambiguous thoughts.  It leaves the author wondering if some thoughts are better left unsaid.