Aging and the Loss of Youthful Thinking

Stuck in a mainframe of old school writer's block,
I stare longingly at a grotesquely empty page.
The words that once flowed so freely from my hands,
are now dammed as a once magnificent river.
The destruction of the naturality of my emotions is not mine to blame:
it was the working of life and the common order of its track.

So simple were my thoughts when the river flowed with might,
I was a child, a newcomer, with the world in my sight.
These childish thoughts were so easy to disipher,
Even I, with my youth-like intillect could phrase them eloquently.

I lived free with the optimism of a boy, and the naivity that followed,
I could write poems of deep love, or of a man whose life was hollowed.

But now, years later, as the clock ticks on,
I fear that my creativity is gone.

My laptop seems to be void of all creativity,
and all I can do is stare at a now dimming screen.
I distract myself by correcting gramatical errors,
searching for synonems, and running a spell check.

When that is through, and I still have no results,
I lay back for a moment and think to myself,
"Where is my power cord?"