Breaking Free

For many-a-days, idle remained,

My pen and my book of poems.

For I was at a strange new place,

Far away from my home.

I was thrilled, also scared,

Eager, but also worried.

For never, was I spared,

Of the surprises that I met here.

I was free for the first time ever,

But so was I alone, anxious and cold.

Days seemed to go on forever and ever.

And I missed my home, my room and more.

A poetic block (!) wrapped around my soul,

Making it shiver in its gripping hold.

To break free of which, I have to be bold,

And find, I did now, an escape of some sort.

My old sheen, I haven't regained,

Which, in time, I'm sure I will.

And once again will I start to write,

Merely looking over a window sill.