Writer's Block

Haven't had much luck with ideas lately

Staring at the paper, blank,
No words come to mind.
My brain, an abandoned bank;
No sound of my mind's wheels grind.
Like a vampire, it drained my creativity,
This thing called "growing older".
The paper is no longer my deity.
The limits of reality grow bolder.
Love and lust are things of norm.
Nothing to write pages about.
The emotions that stirred the fury of a storm
Have left and taken another route.
Fading, fading, slipping like sand.
Falling, forever gone.
Slipping through my fingers and through my hand;
My eternal night has turned to dawn.