Dirty windows rattle overhead.
Broken switch won’t turn off dread.
A flower cart sleeps with gray canopy.
Blue hides beyond infinity.
`
Tiny world, walls surround.
Door jambs swell, I am bound.
The smaller my cube the more I pick.
Yet droplets spill without a lick.
`
Hunger consumes wasted words.
Cupboards cluttered with thirsty birds.
Procrastination wears heavy on my floor.
Stained and crumpled dreams clutter more.
`
Showers will come. The well will fill.
Current flows once still.
Walls disappear. Windows clear.
The beyond invites, if I dare.
`
The End
`
Sck081714
rhymesalot 
This feels like writer’s block and then its clearing to me. That’s my interpretation. What do you think?
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I’ve had writer’s block since June (Orlando), that’s why I’m reblogging now. This poem is about having the confidence to share my writing, which I’m still unsure of. Thanks for the read 😀
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Well I hope my enthusiasm is helping to change that🤗
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I’m very enthusiastic about your enthusiasm, thank you. 😊
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