Stories for my Plumber - These Words

These words

I can't think of anything
What should I write?
Nothing comes to mind
Tis the writer's block they say
Impedes that that churns the mind
Nourishes the pen
And enriches the papyrus
Alas I fear it may not be
Though the symptoms are similar
I know it be a different affliction
It comes once every four seasons
Invades my creative juices
Destroys my writing streak
Which normally comes unhindered
Daily my words fill the electric net
And brings joy to all who is audience to it
Such gracious prose
Never ceases to inspire
Nor malign the layman's palate
Thus it is a great infraction to the entire mankind
That such words be not received
Pray understand
He refuses to liberate my tongue
I beseech you
Be wary of the beast that steals your voice
No more song
No more speech
No more honest declarations of the soul
Mirthless days are before us
Even those without prophecy
Can see the gloomy days ahead
But friends! I implore you
Have strength and stand fast
The exorcist is coming
To drive the monster within
Back to its swampy lair
And once again my public shall
Receive these words again