Writers block

Here on this line, parched and confused
Wrung out, hung to dry, a discarded towel,

I await the showers, the all giving enriching drench.

Begging to bring back my powers,
Bring back the other, the poet.

Let it rain, let me soak abundant in;
Grateful wetness of knowing none is lost.

In the dark shadows I live; corners ghostly,
Hope is never buried in my street as

I await the showers, the all giving enriching drench