#1810-Patience

Organized, clean,

But hard to see.

This sunny morning,

It feels crowded,

And hard to breathe.

Perhaps remnants,

Of leftover dreams,

Playing mind games,

Somewhere unseen.

I think I’ll stay inside,

With emptiness, and quiet.

Morning mist often fades,

As minutes drift away.

Until then,

I’ll wait with gratitude,

For all my days,

Filled with plentitude.