Writer's Block

Alas, I've lost my creativity,
That spark, the muse, whose urgent call once pulled.
Now neither neuron nor divinity
Will move my pen---the light inside has dulled.
No prose springs to my mind, no yarns or tales,
No poetry, no paintings, no designs.
The art, unformed, just stutters, stalls, and fails;
The soul, depressed, with purpose misaligns.
Through sluggish thoughts and dim ideas slow,
I search for inspiration once again,
To go back to before life brought me low,
To force electric brainstorm to begin.
Though art, so forced, should never see the sun,
Yet here it is: a job, though not well done.