The bitch is back

The page stretches white before me. A sea of white that goes on and on mocking me with it's lack of arial font. Writers Block, that bitch, has struck and the images that once ran across my mind's eye in 3-D and technicolor now only whisper from the wings in black, white and shades of gray. The lover's words refuse to come. The children do not play in the back alleys and dirt roads. The magic has disappeared from my fingertips. Where does it come from? And why does it leave me feeling so barren when it is gone...