Brick Wall: Situation

I find myself at a brick wall, unable to move forward or even stop. Why can't I run on forward? What I'd this mental block in my mind, standing in front of me.

Another step, running forward. I struck the wall. In try again, and I fall. The thing about this blockade, enraged.

I wish that it would leave, so that I could believe in what I was writing. I want to write. Write until I die. Write until my hands bleed ink and my pen bleeds blood.

I want to pour not only my heart and soul, but actual time into what I write. I want it to breathe and live. I want it to answer questions that I can't ask. I want it to ask questions that have no answer. I want it to be.

My words need to stand without me there, holding their hand. My words need not be final, because that is not life. My words can morph and change, just like history.

Yet none of that can happen until the bricks are gone. Until the wall is torn down. I'll stay here, waiting for a crumble of thunder. I will wait.