Poetry: Writers Block

Ok, so you've got your pen
Your paper and wit
You got your time
So you wait and you sit
And nothing comes
Nada, jack, zip!

So you just write and hope that something will hit

But in all this time that ain't once been the case
You've never ran this like it were a race
You've never felt the threat of being red in the face
When you took this commission you had your own pace

Now you're making poetry for cash, dollar, cream
Hoping that each penny will fulfill your dream
To make a profession from what once did seem
A joy, a pastime, for the moments in between

And now?

Its for the roof overhead
And the threat of losing your flow keeps you awake in your bed
And as each pause gets longer you fill more with dread
Has it always taken this long for words to come to my head?

You're dried up - You're old news
Your best has been and gone
You won't face it - You refuse
But what else could be wrong
You don't have it - You're done
You're dead and buried mate
You don't know what you got 'til its gone
And now it's too late

So you've got your paper
Your pen, sans time and wit
You sit patiently and poised
But get nada, nothing, zip