Written in the form of a Shakespearian sonnet this poem revolves around the sense of boredom. I don’t tend to write many poetic pieces but I just came in from the pub and hadn’t prepared anything else so here you go.
Slithering sly soft sadness
Darkens days of sparse purpose
For its entirety leads to madness
of our will it usurps us
Tedium that knows no bounds
It’s constricting hold deprives
Those whose minds are sound
From all in which they thrive
Happiness, excitement, pure joy
These things that make us whole
what power does darkness employ?
That weighs so heavily on the soul
Boredom is its choice
Boredom to be its voice