Writers Block

I stare at the sheet of paper.
My pencil sits idle in my hand.
I whack the wooden rod against my cheek
Trying to get my mind running again.

It had started out so well at first
My mind was running like an imagination factory .
Ideas were being stamped out by the second
Dreams were forged into words
Production was at an all-time high

Then everything went completely wrong.
The presses froze
The workers went on strike.
The delivery trucks broke down
Everything ground to a complete halt

So now I sit here, hopelessly behind schedule.
Orders are piling up.
My  customer demands fresh ideas, but I have none to give