Inability for self amusement,
to look but see no further than a yawn,
find nothing recognised as entertainment,
a failure to appreciate each dawn.
Captivating thoughts are non-existent,
pastime but a pun...time moves so slow,
which is a vicious cycle, most persistent,
lets boredom minimise one, blow by blow.
Us, the knowing, practise navel -gazing,
forget the dull and drear in things inane,
the joie de vivre of intellect trail-blazing,
duration one eschews, lest sent insane.
Of cabbages and kings imagination,
time limits imposed on pure frustration.
Quote: Eduard Morike
See more poems by cherryk
View this poem
Comment on this poem