The Write Direction?

A poem about writers block.

The Write Direction

Am I going in the wright direction?
    Should I pause in lieu of reflection?
Does anyone know, of a place I could go
    to avoid the "bad" writer's infection?

I used to sit down and write poems with a quill,
    now I press on a keyboard my thoughts to fulfill.
Little black letters all lined in a row
    A man with a knife, a King with a foe.

Whatever the story, whomever I tell
    I hope it has meaning, I hope I wrote well!
When people start crying the moment it thickens,
    then maybe I'll be in a league with Sir Dickens?

But now I just sit with no thoughts in my noggin,
    the direction unclear, the screen blankly foggin.
I'm right to believe something new will pop in,
    until then I'll just sit here, and wait to begin.