spring

The problem with hoarding, the entire point
The clarity comes clear, right on the ceiling
Boxes of emotions, Ignored and disjoint
I live in the past, with all this feeling

A breath of fresh air, like an intrusion
Like this was all a sin, I must atone
Unpack the old dreams, mouldy delusions
There on the floor, where I once wasn't so alone

Through the window panes, the sun shines long
Space to sit and rest and cry and grieve
Put up the shelves, for what may come along
Plants to grow, and books I have yet to read

So I think it is time, for me to ask