Time Slipping By, But My Pen Is Dry

    I am in the weirdest writing slump lately and it's reminding me of how I write often of time slipping by, or not being able to write. There are about a million different ways to explore these subjects, and I suppose they are all unique and interesting, but I think I revisit the same subjects repeatedly. This is a redundant way to write, and therefore very boring.
    I'm working on a story, but I've run out of steam and inspiration, and I really don't know where to go with it next. I have sixteen drafts on blogger, but some are more than a year old, and I have no idea what to do with them either, or never intend to publish them anyway.
    I've hit a wall with my poetry, no inspiration there either, and it all seems unpoetic, or worse, sappy and whiny. There's no heart or soul in my poetry lately, no passion or beauty due to a lack of creative inspiration and new material. I swear all of the poetry I try to write is either preachy or it reads as sterile. This has happened before, and to write about it now is repetitive, just like I fear.
    Considering how well all my other writing is going, of course essays are going to be dry and difficult. But I'm pushing on through this creative desert.
    I suppose all of my writing is just repetitive, and I don't really know how to break through that, except to keep writing and therefore repeating until I unearth a gold nugget of new amidst all of the dull old subjects in my mind.