PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

Boredom


Bored, to tears.

That a minite nay even a second feels like years.

Years, eons, even centuries have gone by.

When will this boredom end. 

Hey look a sigh, no wait its a sign.

A sign that boredom is something.

No, I'm not procrasanting.

At least I that says I have something and not nothing.

Friends could be sleeping.

Co workers are uh working.

Teachers are teaching and students are learning.

But oh what's this? A string.

Oh no I've a reached a point where a tiny string,

Has become even more interesting.

So bored in fact that I realized that there are a bunch of ings.

Why do I do this to myself?

Still boredom is on the shelf.

Well I guess nothing is something.

I just wish it was more entertaining.

 

 

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

Replies are closed for this poem.

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.

Log in to leave a comment.